


Turn! Turn! Turn!

by sfiddy



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Summer (2008)
Genre: Anyelle, Caregiving, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Explicit Sex, Recovery, Shaunelle, Shelle, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3484316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfiddy/pseuds/sfiddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaun is alone and unemployed months after Daz's death and needs the local library to help with his job search.  Belle French, the new part-time librarian, is happy to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Everything, There is a Season

**Author's Note:**

> So, those of you who are familiar with me know what you're going to get: guaranteed HEA. This one is very bittersweet, and I swear I will finish it, though it may take a little time. Work is crazy busy, I'm remodeling my home, and I need to write scale!wank, too, but I figured once I posted I'm committed... I will always finish.

Daniel is sofa surfing again. The boy hardly had his dad in the ground before getting so blind drunk he covered himself in sick and had to be carried home. It took the lad nearly two months to yell that it wasn’t his home anymore, so Shaun watched dutifully as Daniel shoved his clothes into a duffel bag and left.

Shaun had washed those clothes. It took Daniel less than a month to figure that out. He came back, half-drunk and apologetic, so Shaun nodded, pointed to the box of detergent, and warmed up dinner for him.

Shaun was very good with duty. That was probably why he knew the boy needed to get the anger out of him before telling him to get his skinny arse back to school. An angry head wasn’t going to learn. Angry heads needed sleep, drink and a few good lumps to blunt the edge before trying to book learn again.

This was why, as the sun sparkled through the frost on his window and woke him from a long sleep to a quiet house, Shaun knew he only had to brew tea for himself. Daniel wasn’t ready yet, and that was okay. 

Neither was Shaun. 

He’d cleared a decade of weary detritus and kept the boy, but the silly bugger was growing wings. Too smart to stay in a backwater of the East Midlands, too angry to make it elsewhere yet; wings, but not fledged. Shaun’s duty was not done yet. 

It was a bright day. Facets of heavy frost refracted the sun and blinded Shaun through the kitchen window as he started the kettle. When he turned round, eyes watering, the flat washed out in faded beige and green. He’d meant to re-cover the old chair, the one Daz used to sit in, but time had got away from him again. Shaun had his regular job at the filling station and odd jobs filled a few of the extra hours that suddenly sprang into existence.

He had no idea what to do with those hours. Not since boyhood had there been spare time. Every waking moment had been filled to bursting ever since Daz came to stay, and nearly every moment before. Other men at that age played sport, courted girls, had babes, travelled, and had jobs.

Shaun had Daz and Daniel.

He didn’t really see himself chasing a football, and he didn’t have much in the way of extra cash to travel, but the rest sounded awfully nice, though improbable. Except the job. At least he had that, though it might do him good to try for something new. Something normal. He could take in a few more odd jobs. Maybe Daniel would like the framing and cement job he had to do his next weekday off. It would give Shaun a chance to go to the library or job centre.

Maybe even do the chair. 

.

Hours went by and days passed in a hazy blur, marked by little more than late night shifts at the station and serviceable meals. Shaun occasionally left the telly on just to make noise, but more than once had found himself yelling at Daz to turn down the volume. 

Daz wasn’t there. The telly stayed loud. 

Daniel was taking longer this time. There were friends, mates, and girls willing to let the boy bed down, and Shaun expected there would be news of a wean soon. Daz was a father at Daniel’s age, and the son had way about him like his father. Was it any wonder that the boy must have found a girl to wash his pants for him?

Oh, to be young again.

It made for dull times. Waiting, suspended animation. Disoriented from the late night shifts he’d favored as Daz slid further and further away but hadn’t bothered to reschedule. Those nights and many others left him walking along the dark, half-inhabited high street. The eyes of empty loft windows stared at him stupidly as he trudged by in the foggy mist. 

Shaun thought of Katy a bit. Might ring her up, but knew he was full of piss the moment the idea crossed his mind. He wasn’t even sure what he’d say if he saw her again now. It was hard to follow ‘you were the best thing that happened to me and that was twenty three years ago’ with idle chat. He’d made an offer, had to, and been kindly refused. Rightly so. Some things looked better in memory--in the chrome-edged yellows and reds of a summer long gone. 

Glory always looks better framed by the mundane.

.

Shaun saw Daniel only twice during November: once on his way to work and once walking by the pub. He looked tired but content, which is to say he was well but not working. The holidays were coming and that meant more expenses, so Shaun needed to sign up for every spare shift and overtime he could and hustle for work otherwise. Winter was hard on roofs and fences and no one in in town could afford a real contractor or long-term repair.

But Shaun could patch things up to last a few seasons. With Daniel’s help, he could take on bigger jobs, too. 

When the boy stumbled in at the beginning of December, duffel bag in tow, Shaun just smiled, asked how he was, and put the kettle on. Then he made plans to offer services hanging Christmas lights, doing winter landscapes, laying mulch, and anything else miserable no one else wanted to do. Daniel could have half or more and they’d have a nice Christmas.

They set the lights for half the estate, winterized gardens, and cleared out sheds for weeks. All around them, the dull old town brightened for the holidays. It might have been Shaun’s imagination, but one grotty old loft window on the high street twinkled with tiny blue lights, and even had a candle glowing after dark. 

It was the first Christmas since losing Daz, and Shaun was certain that was why Daniel came home. They put up the sad old fake tree that never seemed to shed all the tinsel from years past and hung all of Daniel’s school ornaments. Then they drank to Daz.

Other parties were more jolly, sure. People got red cheeked with rum and did things they pretended they didn’t remember. Did things they regretted, savored, or got ASBOs for; things backlit with fairy lights or in dark corners to carols and big band music. Mistletoe and indiscretion.

But they made good money and, three days before Christmas, they split it right down the middle. For their weeks of work and sore backs they each took three hundred quid. Forty went down their necks in celebration. Shaun grinned, knowing he’d regret it the next day, but liked the warm feeling of having Daniel home, happy, and looking to the future.

The next morning, bleary eyed and wincing even at the sparkling lights on their tree, Shaun paused as he filled the kettle. The house was too quiet. Note on the table.

Shaun drank a glass of water and went back to bed. There was nothing to be up for.

.

He walked the streets that night, dallying on his way back from the station, and contemplated the blue lights and the candle in the grotty window. Maybe he would do that for Daniel, just to let him know he was welcome. 

Stupid. Shook his head. Romantic, sentimental, and stupid. Daniel knew he could come home, he just liked being away. Away and less than a hundred paces from the door. Shaun wanted to be angry about being abandoned, but he couldn’t bring himself to it. It would just be frustrating if Daniel failed to make good on the second half of the work in a few weeks. Christmas lights didn’t take themselves down.

His shift ended late and it was after midnight. When twinkling lights brighten up wet streets, time becomes flexible, bending to let people who normally don’t stay out late tip back yet another drink to celebrate the year gone by. Small victories won and toasted; big losses ignored and unspoken.

A face appeared at the window. Shaun quickly looked down and pretended to check his watch. When he looked back up, the candle was blown out.

.

On Christmas day, Shaun went to services alone. He sang the songs and shook hands, nodded when people mentioned Daz, and saw Daniel briefly with a pretty girl before the two ducked out early. Christmas dinner was a few slices of tinned ham and a potato with greens. Then work. 

He’d got a card from Katy. It was a very pretty card, made of heavy paper embossed with angels and swooping letters wishing him a season of hope and light. No note inside, just her signature. Shaun hadn’t expected her to think of him at all, and it was nice to have that little connection, even if it was thin. Maybe he could type a few lines the next time he was at the library and print them out, send it back. He left the card standing up on the table and mentally mapped it as he ate.

Work was slow, and no one came into the station. Most people had the foresight to fill their tanks days before their trips, so there were only a handful of fill ups, too. Fewer people around to come to the station, anyway. The town was shrinking since a new manufacturing plant had opened further south. Young people were leaving and older folk stayed behind.

Maybe Daniel would go south for a job. That would be good… for Daniel. 

.

Strange, discordant dreams painted rich colors on Shaun’s eyelids. He hadn’t meant to doze, not so late in the afternoon, but he’d sat waiting and hoping Daniel would come. 

He didn’t. That was okay. The Christmas lights were down and there was another fifty quid in his pocket, and his next pay packet was coming soon. This one would have his overtime and holiday pay on it.

On the way to the filling station, the grotty loft window was still sparkling with fairy lights and candles. If he squinted, he could see movement in the shadows. Meant someone was doing things, maybe tackling the New Year, making resolutions. Maybe hoovering. Signs of life in the old coal town yet and he liked that. It made him feel less like he was standing still.

He hummed tunelessly and followed the way to work.

.

Manager was on site. Gentle hand on his shoulder. Depopulation and rising costs, hedging on oil and money movement near the border, new factory south of the district.

“D’you understand what I’m saying, Shaun?”

Promise of a good reference, extra in his pay packet. 

“Aye.” Looked like Shaun would go to the jobs centre after all. “I’ll just do my shift tonight, then?”

He made sure the floors were spotless. The other blokes never cleaned them very well.

…

It felt strange to not leave for work the next night. Shaun was restless and his legs felt twitchy. If he didn’t work out some of this nervous energy, he was never going to sleep. It was chilly out, January air being what it was, so he pulled on his jacket and headed out into the night.

He was largely indifferent to the seasons. Autumn and spring were warmish and coolish and stormy and dark. Winter was cold, blowy and darker, and that used to mean carefully layering Daz’s clothes so his feet didn’t get frostbite and his skin didn’t chap. 

But summer meant heat and sunshine and having Daz and Daniel out; summer was staring up into the sky until it blinded you just to feel it. Summer meant leaving the windows open to push out the stale air and sneezing for your trouble. For Shaun, summer meant memories; rolling in their warm embrace until you forgot reality for a little while.

He’d turned the corner on the high street, still a fair walk from the library, when the mist turned into pissing rain. What good were those memories now, now that he’d seen the real Katy? Were they spoiled? Had they sat too long and grown green and white fuzz? 

The high street was dimmer now. The town had taken their lights down and most residents along the street had followed suit. A few holdouts remained, though. The remaining twinkles were amplified through the thin, slanting rain. The loft window still had a candle. Shaun checked his watch: it was nearly ten. Too early for the candle to turn in yet, but the soft golden light was perfect to make him think warmer thoughts.

Shaun turned for home. The first thing he saw when he opened the door was Katy’s embossed card. Seeing her had taken away a little of the magic, but not the memory. That was his and no one took that away. He hid these bits of himself, idealized by time and well-polished by practice, deep in the recesses of his mind to be drawn on special occasions, or in his hours of need. 

And anyway, truly good memories didn’t need magic. 

Her bobbed summer-blonde hair had a way of catching the golden sunlight back then. He dropped her card into a drawer and went upstairs, imagining the way her hair felt between his fingers when it was wet from swimming, dry from the dusty breeze, or hot from the sun.

His room was cold but he didn’t notice. The tall grasses whipped his legs and arms when he ran, chasing Katy. She never ran for long, leading him to a secluded spot, shady and protected above, cool earth beneath him. 

His bed was cold. Close enough.

Her face blurred. Hard to keep up when he concentrated. The conversations they’d had like this became murmurs and tones as the words got lost. The words ran together, over and through him until they slid into the mud; all the words except two. Those he heard clearly. Every time. 

A few kisses, a touch, her weight pressing on him. She would lean over, casting a shadow in the filtered sunlight as he closed his eyes, the fringe of her hair brushing his cheek. Details ran together and took on the glow of the field and sun, warming his skin, his face. Katy gripped him and leaned her head back.

_Love you._

Finally, Shaun slept.


	2. Every Purpose Under Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Belle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't planned on having more than one perspective in this story, but I realized there's too much to this Belle not to give her her own scenes. Too much happens for her later not to. :)

A few remaining boxes barricaded the path from the bathroom to where a shiny mobile began playing “Waltzing Matilda”. The tenant darted past the rolled carpet and dodging the barricade to the window to make final preparations, then took a deep breath and answered right before the second ‘billabong’.

She flipped on a small lamp and rallied her second wind. “Hello, Papa!”

_“Hello there! And how’s my Bluebelle today?”_

She sat and ignored the squeak in her chair. “I’m great. Settling into my new flat, just a few boxes to go. My plants might even survive the move if I’m lucky. My friends back in London took decent care of them, even if they let them get dusty.”

_“That’s wonderful. How’s the town? I hear there’s some beautiful places in the Midlands.”_

Oh, god. “Oh yes, Dover is gorgeous.” She didn’t live in Dover. “And there’s some very friendly people, too.” As long as your family was from here for at least four generations.

_“I’m sure they’ll love you, Bluebelle. How’s the job?”_

“It’s not digital archiving at Oxford, but it’s not bad.” Not great either, but she had her own place and could afford to eat, which was better than where she came from. “You’ll never guess what I did today.”

_“What’s that?”_

She tilted her head back with a grin. “I decorated my office walls with your patents.”

_“Oh no, Belle. At least tell me you used the ones with the professional schematics. The newer ones.”_

“Nope,” she teased. “This way, I get to see your drawings every day. I like it better.”

_“I can’t believe you decorated your wall with a scale drawing of a new window frame.”_

She loved these conversations. Missed hearing about his work. “Then submit one of your new ones, Papa. What are you working on today?”

_“After I finish breakfast I’m heading to the shed to work on the new flat screen conferencing system. There’s something funny about my camera array and I hope to tune the thing to help block out interfering signals.”_

The kettle whistled. “Like what?” She hopped up to pour.

_“Oh, random wifi, nearby cell towers, that sort of thing. They bog it down and confuse the feed.”_

“Wow. That sounds complicated.”

_“Nah. Might just need a little thicker casing is all. We’ll see.”_ He paused. _“Have you heard from… him?”_

The teabag swirled amber curls in the cup. “No. I think he’s already moved and I don’t really care to know any more.” That and no one from London called her anymore.

He sighed. _“I’m sorry about everything, Bluebelle.”_

She looked around at her little loft with its bare pipes on the wall, mini fridge, and exposed brick. “Me too, Papa.” She covered a sniff. “But I’m doing just fine. And I could always move back home.”

_“Bluebelle,”_ he said. _“You chased a dream, not a man. You keep chasing it, my girl. You’ll do wonderful things, I know you will._ ”

She couldn’t hide the next sniff, but that was okay. “Thank you, Papa. I’m trying.”

_“That’s how you do it, my girl. Keep your eyes open and be ready for it.”_ There was a shuffling and clatter of silverware on a plate. _“And don’t worry about money. I’m sending you the next residuals check and I don’t want to hear a word about it. Now get to bed! I’m off to work. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to the microbatteries today as well!”_

She smiled. “Good luck Papa. Let me know how it goes tomorrow!”

They hung up, and she looked at her flat. Her father’s check could do a lot for the place, since her pay packet could only cover necessities. A few pictures would look nice against the brick, a rug or two would soften the hard lines of the floor, and her plants would look wonderfully alive next to the pipes. 

And no one would ever see it.

Belle French sipped her tea and went to the window. A little drapery would warm this spot up as well, since the damp, chilly air was seeping in through the glass and the wind leaked at the corners. There was only a cheap sheer for now. She drew it back, made a wish, and blew out the candle.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is quite close to home for me in some respects. Caregiving and end of life care is so incredible, powerful, and draining (at all stages) that it's hard to put into simple terms... I seem to be trying to convey it in a story. :)


	3. A Time to Plant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not going to be the most tightly edited story ever. Some of you may have noticed an epic oops already (I fixed it) but I'm more interested in writing this story than having perfect editing this time. Time and a place for everything, I guess (though if a good editor is interested, I'm game for a little help).

People hurried to the double doors of the library to get in from the cold. Shaun shuffled and hunched a little more against the wind. Once inside, he smoothed his hair and took a deep breath.

Recognized a few faces. Waved at the barber and a neighbor or two.

After seeing a pinch-faced librarian at the main desk, Shaun opted to have a wander. Just another person enjoying the local library on a cold day. Besides, it’d been long enough since he’d been on the jobs website that he needed to think-- relax a bit first. So much had happened that no matter what he was doing it always felt awkward, like he was doing things in someone else’s life. Pale lines on onion paper tracing the real world.

The library was quiet, but far from silent: people spoke softly over papers and open books, children squeaked and bounced on their toes to look at shelves just out of reach, the swish of pages and the percussion of keys joined together in a muted concert. It was a perfect backdrop for thinking if you had the time or energy for it. But then, it was a Saturday in a half-abandoned coal town. This was one of the few things you could do for free.

If you could read for pleasure, that is. Shaun could read. Mostly. The letters danced and it was hard to pin them down long enough to understand them, even after all these years. It was so much work just to read the words that paragraphs became wriggling streams and the meaning was lost in the current. He certainly didn't look at it as a hobby. Writing--he flexed his bad hand--writing was something else.

Signs directed browsers to topics whilst white boards and calendars informed which clubs met when and where. Shaun had either never known or had completely forgotten how much happened at libraries. In the cookery section, he stumbled into a knitting circle, pardoning himself as they twittered and clucked at him. As he backed away toward fantasy, he nearly tripped over a felted low table covered in cards and dice. His apology was returned with a two-fingered salute.

Red faced, he hurried toward the medical reference section. With any luck, the library wasn’t hosting live surgery yet. Shaun fanned his face and walked slowly down an aisle, texts lining both sides from the floor to above his head. On the right was a massive series of red books impressively labeled “Science”, and on his left, a mixture of texts all about kidneys. 

How could people write this many books about kidneys? The idea was so ridiculous he decided to follow it, and watched as the titles morphed into kidneys and the circulatory system, them cardiology. This led to a hallway between the narrow aisles of shelves. Shaun kept walking, wondering what could possibly come next.

His breath caught as the titles changed. End of life care. Shelves and shelves. An entire wall devoted to it and the people who did it. He stared as the titles went by, turning around to see the opposite shelves full of books on hospice, caregiving and family. 

It was beautiful. Late, but beautiful, and the wild patchwork sea of bindings stretched out on both sides of him. The sea grew larger and Shaun walked backwards, now unable to pick out specific titles in the colorful riches. The rows expanded around him and he slowly edged back, his eyes everywhere because he just wanted to see them all. Beautiful.

“Watch out!” a voice behind him whispered.

The sound jarred him and Shaun spun round, sensation crackling over his skin. 

Beautiful. 

He shook his head to clear it. “H-Hello. Sorry.” 

A woman small enough to make him feel like a strapping lad jostled a few books in her arms. “No, no, that was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She reshelved a book and wrapped her arm around the others. “Staying up too late probably isn’t helping.” She looked him over. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Are you--” The books obscured all but a corner of a nametag. She didn’t look like a librarian, but then Shaun would hardly know. “Do you work here?” he wondered out loud.

The woman’s round face brightened. “I’m the new assistant librarian. I started just a couple of weeks ago. I’m Belle.”

“Shaun,” he managed. New people didn’t just come to town. People left and only returned for Christmas, and then only until their parents died. No one came here on purpose and they certainly didn’t travel from Australia to find their fortune in a dying backwater of the Midlands.

He was staring. “Yeah, can you point me to the computers?”

She nodded and set her books on a trolley. “Sure, we got in new ones and set up a whole new room. Follow me!” Belle turned sideways and brushed by him to lead the way. Her crown came just to his chin. Shaun turned to follow and noted her heels.

It wasn’t every woman that made him feel like a giant. He shrugged to himself. Strange things came from Australia.  
The room was filled with rows of shiny new computers and bright flat screens. Belle sat at one and clicked the monitor on. 

“Here, I’ll just get you logged in. Then you can set up your own account and you won’t need my help next time.” 

When a new picture appeared, she grinned and pulled out the chair next to her for him to sit. “Here’s the main page, the library search page, an online form for interlibrary loans…” With each feature she pointed out, she used the mouse to scroll over it.  
“And from this one there’s a bunch of links to local services like the postal service, local government, the jobs centre--”

Before she could continue, Shaun had the mouse out of her hand and clicked on the box she was pointing to.

“Well, looks like you know why you’re here! You have to schedule an appointment online. That’s new, but it’s not too bad.” 

Shaun looked up. “I thought you were already a librarian.”

“Part time,” she reminded him. “It’s a little underwhelming after college and an internship at Oxford. Besides…” She cleared her throat, leaned over and directed him to click on the appointment request form. “So from here, you just send in a request and you should get a pretty quick response. Do you have an email address?”

“Yes.” He was out of a job, not out of his head. “But I’ll have to come back to check it.”

“That’s what we’re here for.” She picked up a stray book and nudged a curl behind an ear. “You should have a response by tomorrow. They’re pretty good about that. Do you need anything else? We’ve got some great programs and reading groups. And there’s no hurry on the computer, we’re not on a queue right now.”

God, what he needed was a life. And Daniel. And a drink. “No. I think I’m okay. I’ve got dinner and laundry to do.”

“Oh?” Belle perked up. “We’ve got lots of story time activities for kids and families.”

“No, no kids. Just me.”

Belle sat up in her chair. “Okay then. There’s plenty of things to do in a library. Well, if that’s all, then I’m happy I was able to help.”

Shaun stood up. “Thanks again.”

“And if you come back, just ask for me. I’m here in the afternoons.” She pointed to her nametag. “Belle. If you need any help, just ask for me.” From a plastic dispenser, she slid out a heavyweight flyer for the library and wrote in the margin before handing it to him. “See you tomorrow?”

He took the card. “Most like.” He felt his smile go lopsided. “Thanks. Bye now.” 

Belle gave a little wave on her way out the door and walked back to the lobby. Shaun couldn’t help but notice the sway in her walk. When he was done, he wound his way back out to the street and caught the bus back. On the ride back he flicked the edge of the glossy card. 

Plenty of things to do in a library, huh? Well that wasn’t even fair. That was going to be stuck spinning in his head for days, and he needed it on straight for his appointment at the jobs centre. And Belle was going there, too. But she had a job, so why look more? 

Not his business. Wouldn’t be, either. Shaun set the flyer on the table next to Katy’s card and gathered his better clothes to wash.

.

The next day, he logged in to the computer without any help, and got his scheduled appointment with a jobs counselor. He also found out about a massive work history form to fill out before the appointment.

Daz used to help with things like that. It was part of their informal arrangement- Shaun cooked, cleaned, washed and dressed Daz, and basically raised Daniel. Daz filled out forms. For a decade, Shaun questioned the balance of their relationship. This past year, however, he realized he had the better bargain.

Obligation had ways of crushing those thoughts from you, though. 

Not feeling up to the challenge of the form, Shaun strolled back to the lobby of the library. He could thank the librarian for her help-- that would be a normal thing to do, right? Normal was good.

He walked carefully, more mindful of the activities around him this time. As he got closer to the children’s section, he overheard an unmistakable voice reading out loud. Giggles and childish whispers rose and then the sound of pages turning.

“And then the bear grabbed the maiden and ordered the king to--” Belle read, sitting in the middle of a group of children. With her curls spilling haphazardly from a coil held with nothing more than a pencil and wearing a pale green dress, she looked like a forest sprite. She glowed in the midst of the dark blue carpet. The children craned, listening to her voice, sweet and lilting one moment then full of butterscotch the next, as she wove through an old fairytale.

Not about to interrupt story hour, Shaun gave Belle a small wave and headed for the door. Still reading, she waved back, smiling at him as he headed out. He tucked the form under his jacket and made his way home.

.


	4. A Time to Cast Away Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another phone call home- and a little more of Belle's story.

The plants were dusted off and overwintering under the brightest lamp in the drafty flat. Belle carefully wiped the big, flat leaves of her philodendron and checked the soil on her baby ficus, pointedly ignoring the rest of the flat.

When ‘Waltzing Matilda’ played on her phone, she was sitting right next to it.

“Papa!”

“Bluebelle! How did you enjoy your Saturday!”

Belle dug her fingers into her hair. “I completely forgot yesterday was Saturday and I sat by the phone,” she confessed. “I was all set to hear about your microbatteries.”

“I’m not sure which makes me sadder, Belle. That you stayed by the phone on a Saturday night or that you were interested in a microbattery that doesn’t work very well.”

“Yet. Maybe not yet, Papa, but it will. And I know I’m changing the subject, you don’t have to remind me.” Belle looked up at the cheap shade on the harsh pendant light over her head. “Saturdays were a little more interesting in London, and when I was in uni.”

“It’ll come. You haven’t been there long, so it’ll come.” He paused, and Belle refused to fill the space in their conversation. “Well, if you insist, stubborn girl. The connections aren’t handling the current. The capacity is too strong for the output lines and they keep getting hot. One melted through the storage case!”

She grinned and looked away from the light. “Wow.” Half the room was blanked out from staring at the light, which was just fine. “Any ideas?” 

“A few, mostly involving the bin. Got a few other things on.” Belle heard a discreet slurp, and imagined him hovering over his breakfast and the funny way he liked to pile his eggs on top of the toast before eating it. “What have you been doing with yourself this weekend? All unpacked yet?”

Ugh. “A few more to go.” The same ones as last week, actually. “I’m figuring out what to do with a drafty window. I might get some crazy fabric and what I don’t use for the drapes I’ll use to make a cape to wear at my new story time at the library.”

He chuckled. “The kids always love your ideas. How’s work? What do they think of my silly drawings on your wall?”

“They thought they were fascinating.” They stared at them like lobotomized apes. “One even figured out they were patents.”

Belle giggled at his snort. “They say ‘patent’ at the top. Not sure that’s a real trick to figure out.”

Maurice French hadn’t met the locals. “They aren’t used to this sort of thing, Papa. It’s not like Oxford--most people have never seen a patent application.”

Another snort, this one of humor. “Lucky them. Have, eh… have you kept in touch with any of the people at Oxford?”

The croton was going to need more soil soon. Belle looked back up at the light. “I’m not even sure how to broach that.”

“They’ve got email, same as you.”

Belle tucked her knees up and rested her heels on the seat of her chair. “It was pretty clear that I didn’t get that job because I was so talented with accessibility software or I was such a great archivist.” Gary and his business associates were generous when they chose to be. “The donor network has a lot of influence over internships like that.” 

Maurice was quite for a moment, probably a mixture of mulling and chewing his eggy toast. “Is there a donor network at the library you’re at now?”

“What?” The words didn’t even make sense for a moment. “No. We’re lucky we have some new computers, even if the chairs _are_ falling apart.”

“Then, isn’t that proof that you are a perfectly competent librarian? They may not have an archiving section, but I bet there are people you can help just the same.”

The nice, quiet man flashed in her mind. “I suppose so.” His shy smile was the most genuine thing she’d seen in weeks.

“Bluebelle, your mother would be so proud.”

Belle laughed, though not bitterly-- that was over. “Oh god, for what? My fabulous life choices or because I drank tea from a bowl this afternoon because I can’t be bothered to wash up?” The unpacked boxes lined the edge of the room where she’d nudged them out of the way and her favorite cup was getting scummy on top. 

“No, Belle. Because you tried something, failed, then tried again.”

“You’re short a few fails.” Belle wiped her cheek. “I couldn’t get a job in London.”

“So what? You have a job now, and you don’t owe anyone anything. You’ll get through this- it’s just a rough patch. That fool doesn’t know what he lost.”

“Maybe not,” Belle said, shrugging to herself. Gary probably knew exactly what he lost, and how to replace it. Some other pretty girl was probably getting the insider’s tour of Singapore right now because Belle had wanted to keep working at Oxford.

“You’re too quiet, my girl. Tell me one really good thing that happened this week.”

“Well,” she said, and unfolded her aching legs. Belle leaned forward and stroked the yellow streaks on her philodendron. “A man came into the library and needed to use the computers. I saw him again the today while I was reading for story time and he had the nicest little smile.”

“Did you talk with him?”

“Only enough to help him get a jobs consult, really.” And also that he could cook and didn’t have kids. “I bet he’ll be in to get help with the forms, though.”

“Why do you say that?”

Belle smiled and tucked the phone under her chin so she could pull her hair up. “Because they’re stupidly complicated to fill out, like every other government form.”

He laughed. “Let me know if anyone likes your wall art. If I can manage it, I’ll have a prototype for a new vapor trap for rebreathing devices done in the next few months. It’s actually so pretty I might have a pro draw this one up in color.”

She stood up from the table and surveyed her kitchenette. It was a pale imitation, but she missed sitting at the kitchen table while he worked. “Papa, I miss watching you do your drawings. I liked looking at manuals with you while I ate my bedtime snacks and waking up to you banging away on something in the shop.”

Maurice made a manly, gruff coughing noise and Belle knew he was covering up. “Well, I’ll see about getting you a nice new picture for your wall, eh?” She heard the silverware on his plate and knew he was ready to go. “I’m off to work. Check your account tomorrow afternoon; you should have the residuals by then. You take care and go wash your mugs, now!”

“Yes, Papa. I’m on it.”

After they both rang off, Belle tackled her dirty dishes and dumped a bit of soil on her stressed plants. The boxes could wait a little longer.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up- I'm treating this story as a bit of an experiment (shocking, I know). I'm playing with methods of characterization and character development over the course of a story. As such, the cast will be small, and the themes tight so I can keep things under control. I have very strong musical scores for the characters and their phases, and if you're curious, I'd be delighted to chat about it. Suffice it to say, my goal is to keep all my scheming and machinations subtle enough in the story as to disappear. Hopefully I manipulate you well enough that you don't realize I'm doing it!


	5. A Time to Build Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaun has his appointment at the jobs centre. Attempts are made to fill out the forms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we all remember that Shaun has severe dyslexia, right? Good.

Finding a job was always more painful once you are without one. The pressure of time grew heavier because every minute you weren’t getting paid you might as well just burn the cash you had.

The night before his appointment at the jobs centre, Shaun counted up what was left. Thank god he’d done well before Christmas. He had enough to float him for three, maybe four months if he scrimped and found more work. Less if Daniel came back, but that was life. 

He would always watch over Daniel. 

…

Day broke in a shroud of gray peculiar to the region. It was a day that had no features- nothing to distinguish it and therefore easily ignored. The sky was heavy without rain, the air moved without wind, there were no matches of note and, but for the bored call of an occasional bird, there was nothing the mind could latch onto to give it texture. The day was, simply, nothing; one made for a steady stream of pints to blur the memory of it. If a day was so dull that an entire town could forget it, did it even matter?

Unfortunately for Shaun, he had to content himself with tea. The entire world had taken on the air of a very forgettable cello solo and he had to stay sober for his appointment. He sipped and dawdled at the table, fussed with his clothes and paced, debated ironing his collars, and then sat down again. Restlessly, he fiddled with the information flier from the library. The colors were saturated to show off the bright chairs and paintings. The richness caught Shaun’s eye as it drew all the color in the world to the shiny glossed print. Deep reds and bright yellows and sparkling blues against dark wood and row upon row of those well-loved books. 

He looked up to refill his cup. Beige. Faded green. Darker beige. Even Katy’s card, with its glowing gold script and angels, seemed bleached. 

.

The jobs counselor had a huge desk and very little time for him. 

“Shaun, these initial consults are just for information gathering. Unless you had a specific post in mind, I can’t promise anything until we have your completed forms with a full work history and a good CV in the system for you.”

He pushed his hair back. “I understand, but is there anything I can do?” He pushed the laminated example form with a finger. “Filling in boxes doesn’t pay.”

“Once you’re in our system, then we can file for jobseeker’s allowance for you. But we need the forms first.”

Shaun sighed. “Okay. I’ll get this done as soon as I can.”

“Good man,” The counselor replied. “You can find that form on the website.” Then the counselor turned away and started typing. Shaun took the hint and headed out to the lobby. 

The form was four pages-- longer if you had a work history like his that needed explanations. He’d have to think hard about what to write and keep it short. Shaun’s typing was nearly as bad as his writing, and took him nearly as long. 

The meagre daylight was fading already, and the nothingness of it all was weighing on him. Shaun wandered back out to the reception hall and took a business card with the website from the stack next to a rack of Styrofoam cups. Free tea always tasted good, and it gave him an excuse to linger as he carefully read the helpful hints on the back of the card before braving the outdoors again.

The only change outside was a slight shift in the winds. It would be colder soon. It was January after all, but still. Colder. Shaun stood waiting for the bus with his hands tucked into his sleeves and yearned for a hot shower and a splash of whiskey.

The bus was late and the kitchen was cold when he got home. He set a glass down on the table and sloshed a finger of whiskey into it. A few drops splattered onto the table and the glossy card from the library. As Shaun wiped it dry, his eyes scanned the words-- past the welcome message and the history of the library, down to a list of services offered.

And a handwritten name: Belle. The services mentioned help with forms and such. Smiled at him. And she did say to ask for her. 

But it was nearly dark, and he had no stomach for it. One change in a day --a month, half a year-- had been enough. So much change, and he wasn’t equipped for it. He was better prepared to change adult diapers than he was his own life.

He sipped his drink and winced at the burn. Daz would have three on him by now and would have called him a skirt for sipping. For a moment it crossed his mind to follow through—to let the glass deliver a half inch of payload, give the day some brief sensation as it warmed him, and then have a dozen of its brethren follow in due course.

But as his hand paused on the neck of the bottle, his eyes tracked over to the warm, richly colored card from the library. 

She did say to ask for her.

Shaun topped off his drink, stoppered the bottle, and put it back on the shelf. Then he got out a pan to fry up supper. 

He made an extra portion for Daniel. Just in case.

…

Shaun spent a few hours dawdling. Turned on the telly for the noise only to turn it back off after a half hour. The kitchen was clean enough, the laundry was done, and the he’d hoovered just a few days before. 

It was too much to hope that Daniel would come by, but Shaun was almost certain he was shacked up with the bird from Christmas. A dozen doors down, and a life away. Maybe Daniel would find real work soon-- nothing made a man settle faster than having a girl. Lucky Daniel. Luckier if he found a job down south. Shaun couldn’t think about that just yet.

The walk was colder and windier than the day before. On days like this he avoided going out, but then, lately, he hadn’t much reason to. Today was different- there was a task, and Shaun was very good when there was something that needed doing. 

She did say to ask for her.

Tuesdays were very different from Saturdays at the library. There were only a few people milling around and, by the look of the announcement board, no one was meeting in the afternoon. Shaun hesitated on his way to the desk- if there were no people to see to, she may be too busy with actual work to help him. 

He was about to turn around, make this a complicated detour on his way for groceries, when he felt the card in his pocket. Shaun turned it over in his fingers. He needed to either get a job or get job seekers allowance and there was a four page form that had to be done and that was that.

And the pinch-faced librarian was watching him. Shaun sighed and flicked the card against his trousers as he walked to the desk.

The librarian’s severe chignon had the effect of an unsubtle facelift. “May I help you?”

“Aye,” Shaun said. “Is Belle around?”

She raised an eyebrow. How this was possible, given the current traction on the roots of her hair, was beyond him. “One moment.” She picked up the phone and pressed a button. “Main desk, Miss French.” 

Shaun stood near the desk, examining the business card to avoid making eye contact. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should just do more work around the neighborhood and make a living of it. He could patch walls and set flower beds to rights. He could draw up plans and do simple construction as long as he didn’t have to do more than sums and such for it. A bit of brick and mortar here and a gob of plaster there could pay a living. Mostly.

The doors were getting closer as he took small steps in their direction. He’d never be a rich man but he’d eat well enough and have a drink here and there and really, what else was there to life now?

“Shaun?” 

He spun round. “Belle, hey.” He shuffled his feet for a moment before heading back to the desk where she was standing. Enemy territory, if the look on the head librarian’s face was to be believed. “I had my appointment,” Shaun said, holding up the card.

Belle smiled sympathetically. “Saw the form, did you?” She shook her head. “It’s terrible.”

Shaun exhaled. “I thought it was just me.”

“Nope,” Belle said, and waved her hand for him to follow, leaving the librarian at the desk with her straining follicles. “At least you can save the online form so you don’t lose what you’ve written.” Belle led Shaun to a private computer room with a desk, computer, two chairs, and neatly cut scratch paper. “I couldn’t finish it in one sitting, so let me know when you need a break.” She pulled out the chairs and took the one further from the keyboard.

Shaun glared at the keyboard as he sat; the little raised cubes might as well have been covered in ancient runes at first glance. They would settle a bit once he relaxed, though. He set out the card and in a few moments he’d clicked through the menu and logged in with stilted clacks echoing in the tiny room and got to the form. 

“Alright, Shaun. Now just take your time and make sure you get the name and address bit filled out right. The rest you can be less formal but here you really have to do it right.”

He allowed a gruff chuckle. “Less formal? Have you seen me?” 

Belle grinned, and sat back in her chair quietly so he could concentrate, and wasn’t that just hilarious. It was bad enough with someone walking about the room with a dozen other punters trying to type, but it was worse when there was just her patiently watching him.

Shaun watched the fingers of his left hand mash individual keys in between long, searching pauses. He knew he should know where they were, but once he looked for keys he needed, the little bastards hopped around.

And you can’t tell people that, can you? 

After a dozen or more slow clicks, Belle sat forward with a start. “You know, I just remembered that I left the kettle on. I was going to brew a cup for myself but, since you’re here, would you like one, too?”

“Oh, aye,” Shaun replied. He hoped he sounded casual rather than desperate for her to not witness his slog. “That’d be grand.”

She hopped up on heels that defied reason and swayed just enough for Shaun’s mental alarm to go off. 

It was automatic. He ‘d done the same for Daz and Daniel a hundred times-- caught them mid-wobble from wherever he was, easing the father back into the chair and halting the son’s slow pitch towards the floor. 

Though it was only a moment, accidental, incidental, and otherwise completely unworthy of note, Shaun managed to note the smooth fabric of her dress, warmed by the curving hip underneath, and the way her knees stabilized despite the senseless angle of her ankles.

He snatched his hand away. “Sorry.” 

“Woo, that was a close one.” Belle gripped the back of her chair as she turned carefully. “You’d think I’d be a little more sensible.” She laughed as she opened the door. “Wouldn’t be the first time I learned something the hard way. How do you take it?”

Shaun wiped his hands over his trouser legs, watching as Belle tucked back a rebellious curl. “Bit of milk if you have it. None if you don’t.”

“Aren’t you a picky one,” Belle teased. “Back in a mo.”

With a sigh of relief, Shaun turned back to the keyboard and tried to type. It was useless. He was a hundred different epithets for stupid and now he couldn’t concentrate because a woman was being friendly.

It was nice to know he was more than a spaz. He was a hard-up spaz.

With a familiar deep sigh, Shaun returned to the screen prompts and filled in his place of birth and other mundane details of his mundane life. He was nearly done with the top half of the first page when Belle kicked the door holding two steaming mugs to the window and balancing a slim box across her arms.

Shaun leapt up to get the door and stepped back to avoid the steam. 

“Here we go, this will help keep us going.” Belle set the mugs down and peeked at the screen, the box on her lap. “How are you doing?”

“All right. A bit… slow.” He took the closest mug and, as he lifted it, saw that it read ‘Librarians do it by the book’. He gulped far too much and had to take a deep breath to cool his throat.

“You’re doing great,” Belle agreed and watched him tab to the next prompt, the first that required actual sentences. “Oh! I came across this and thought it might make this easier.” She popped open the box lid. “Voice recognition! I know my ideas flow better when I can talk through them, rather than type them out. Want to try?”

With a glance at the box, Shaun gave a little shrug. “Ah, sure?”

Out of the box came a thick booklet and a long, thin microphone. Belle plugged in the hardware and clicked through a few menus until a test window opened up.

“Now, we just have to make sure you and the computer are on the same page and then you’ll be ready in no time.” She pulled up a list of words and a window with a dancing, warbling line appeared. “Just speak clearly into the microphone and we’ll be all set! All right, first word.”

…

Belle tangled a hand in her hair and only made the mess worse. “I just don’t understand what’s wrong. It’s not like we’re Americans. This is the British edition, and you’re British!” 

Shaun chuckled. “And Scottish. How long have you been here?”

She sighed. “I knew it was a long shot for me, but this is ridiculous. Was it really necessary for it to ask what language you were speaking?”

“How many times did you have to reboot the computer? Three times?”

“Yes. I didn’t realize the software would try to reconfigure the computer to the language it thought it was hearing. I never knew a Scottish accent had so much in common with American Gullah, rhythmically speaking.”

“But Icelandic?”

Belle drooped her head miserably. They’d been working for two hours with nothing more than what they started with, and a computer that probably needed what Belle called a complete rebuild after what they did to it. 

Shaun sat and chewed the inside of his cheek. “So, ah, should we call it a night? Maybe try another day?”

“No,” she murmured, and sat up. “We’re getting this done, if you’re willing to stay a bit late.” She straightened her shoulders, glared at the computer,  
and smacked her palm down onto the table top. “That’s it. We’re doing this the old fashioned way. Come on, Shaun, and bring your mug. We’re going to need more tea.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real Life got very real again, and so my energies are tied up in several places. I cannot say how much of the creative spillover will make it here, but when I can, I'll be writing. Thanks for reading!


	6. A Time to be Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filling out the form.

It was hardly an office. Shaun was no expert on the subject, but he’d seen the offices of council members, doctors, and an occasional lawyer, and this wasn’t even close. 

Belle must have seen the look on his face. “Well, I am just part time,” she said with a shrug. Then she set a printed copy of the form on the desk and grabbed her kettle. “I’ll be right back. Have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

The second chair had been crammed behind the door, and the room was so small that Shaun had to squeeze between the door and her desk to get it out. Once he settled into the chair, he looked around the room. The desk was a cast off; bits of laminate peeling here and there, and part of it had been removed so it would fit the room. The chair was a sickly olive color with threadbare spots on the seat and back and vinyl armrests that might have been the rage in 1988.

The walls, though, were freshly painted. Well, paint was cheap, that the thought was nice. Shaun doubted that the library had provided the pictures, though. 

He stood up and took a closer look. Didn’t need to read the description below to know what it was.

“You’ve found the patents, I see!”

Shaun jumped and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sorry. Looked interesting. Is that a… window frame?”

Belle grinned and stood close. There was nowhere else to stand, really. “Yup! My father filed that patent back in 1990. That’s his drawing!”

“Nice.” Shaun swallowed. “I like the way the lining works.”

“That, combined with the slide,” Belle reached by him and pointed to a mechanism in the image. “Those things make the windows removable.”

For a brief moment, Shaun was overwhelmed. People didn’t come into his personal space. He went into theirs to render aid and little more. Then he left again, changed his shirt of the filth or wet that had got on it, then went about the rest of his day like nothing happened.

He looked down at her. “Easy install,” he muttered. Anything but.

“That’s the idea!” Belle said brightly, heading around the desk to sit. “Filling in your form is going to be easy, I can tell.”

Shaun slumped into the chair. “If you say so.”

Belle shuffled the pages around and picked up a pen. “I printed out what we already had done, so we’ll just get started on the next section, education.”

“I,ah… I finished.” It sounded flat and unimpressive in his own ears, he couldn’t imagine how it sounded to Belle.

“Any college?”

“No.”

Belle checked a few boxes and turned the page. “Okay, employment history. Part one.”

…

“How long were you with your mentor?” 

Shaun shifted in his seat. “I never went. Daz needed help. He needed me.”

Belle glanced up. “What did you do instead?”

He sipped his tea. “Got work doing landscaping in the morning, helped Mum in the afternoons, and took Daz out at night.”

She blinked, and then started writing again. Once she finished the line, she glanced at his cup. “More?”

Warmth in his hands. Somehow that glow made the whole process a bit easier, took the edge off his history. “Please.” 

…

Belle tugged her hair free, made a wild spiral of it, impaled it with a pencil and pressed the button on the kettle again. “You built stone walls?”

“Aye. Restored them, too.”

“That’s incredibly hard work.” She tapped her pen on her cheek. “And pretty artistic as well. What kind of hours?”

“About two hours to sort the stone, another two to plan the set and trim, and two to set.” Shaun smiled as Belle wrote. “Hard work. I was sore for the first few weeks.”

“Can’t imagine why. You were carrying around rocks for a living,” she said, finishing the line. “There’s a lot of project planning there. Schematics?”

“Loads. Helped plan out the repair of the wall by the castle.”

“That’s definitely going in here.” Belle grinned. “When we finish this form, I want to hear about that!”

The kettle dinged, and the room was the coziest place Shaun had been in years.

…

The lights in the hallway were dark. 

“So, he just moved in with you? With a kid, just like that?” Belle leaned her face onto her hand.

“Just like that.” Their tea had gone cold but neither of them had thought to refill the mugs. “I had space after Mum passed. Daz was desperate to get away from home.”

“And what were you doing?” 

“I worked half time laying carpet and tile. Fixed up gardens and roofs during the season. When Daniel got old enough, he helped.” Shaun flicked his thumb over the edge of his cold cup. “Quick learner.”

Belle smiled fondly, scrunching her cheek against her hand. “Well, he was learning from you.”

She hadn’t touched her pen for half an hour.

…

Her laugh was loud in the small room. “He actually yelled ‘Geronimo’?”

“He did!” Belle laughed even louder and it hurt Shaun’s ears a bit. Good kind of hurt.

She swiped at her watering eyes. “Did he make it to the bottom of the hill?” 

Shaun could laugh about it now. “Aye. On his face.”

Belle clapped her hand over her mouth. “Was he okay? What did you do?”

“He was fine. I chucked him back in his chair, pushed him home for a shower, and went to work.”

She was quiet for a moment. “That’s kind of amazing, you know.”

Shaun tilted his head. “Is it?”

“Sure,” Belle began. “I mean, you have this incredible situation that your life revolves around, then there’s the everyday stuff, and then you just get on with the rest of it. Rinse and repeat.”

With a half-smile, because there was good, bad, and sad about it all, Shaun met her eyes. “It’s what you do for people. Keep calm and carry on and all that.”

Belle met his gaze thoughtfully, tilted her head to match his. “Hmm. Nope. Still amazing.”

Shaun felt his face warm.

…

Belle tapped the finished form into shape and stapled it. “So, you’ll get the appointment by email again, but this time, take this with you.” She handed him the form inside an envelope. Then she stood and stretched, reaching for her computer to shut it down. “Oh my god, is it already eight-thirty?”

Shaun ached a bit when he stood as well. He wasn’t used to sitting still for long. “Sorry, I didn’t even notice. Too many years working later shifts. If it’s a problem, I’ll talk to the head librarian.”

Belle waved her hand. “No, no. It’s no problem.” She shut down her computer and straightened her desk. She gathered her things and pulled on her coat. “C’mon, gotta go lock up.”

Before she shut off the lights in her office, Shaun got one more glimpse at the tiny haven, setting his impression into a permanent imprint of the technical prints, shabby furniture, and the friendly scatter of work across her desk. For all its look of a converted janitor’s storage room, Shaun liked the little room.

As the room snapped into darkness, Shaun saw one last detail in Belle’s office: she’d left their mugs on her desk. That made him smile.

…

It was dark and soggy outside. The council struggled to maintain the lighting on the high street, and they weren’t on the high street.

Belle locked the door of the library and tugged on her gloves. “Which way are you?” 

He nodded in the general direction of the estate. “That way, but, eh… I’ll walk you home?” Because a few more minutes sounded really nice.

“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”

Out of the confines of her office, and without the form to push conversation along, they walked quietly. That was alright, though, because a lot had been said and plenty to think about. They walked by the shuttered shops and the local newsletter office. A loud, shouted expletive from the pub a block away reached them and made them chuckle. A few other people were out, but on their way home, as well. Shaun nodded and waved to a few.

He imagined what they looked like. Couldn’t help but like it, too.

They reached some of the dingier buildings and Belle slowed. 

“Well, this is me.” She pointed up at the grotty window. Could it be?

“Sure, sure.” Shaun scratched at the back of his head. “Ah, thanks for all your help. Not sure how I’m going to pay you back for staying so late.”

Belle giggled. “Well, you can tell me about restoring that wall around the castle, but not tonight. I have to take care of my plants and Papa always calls at about nine.” She glanced up at her window. “We used to chat over breakfast and he likes it too much to give it up, even with me all the way here.”

“Okay, so… I guess, good night?”

Belle looked back to him. “Good night, but you’re still going to tell me about that wall. When are you free?”

He was always free. “Uh, Thursday?”

“Perfect. Can you come by the library around five?” She dug in her bag and pulled out her keys. “I’ll punch out and we can go someplace other than my office.”

Surreal. “Great!” There would be unicorns running by next.

Belle pulled off her glove and held out her hand. “I had a nice time, Shaun. See you Thursday?”

He accepted a gentle shake. Warmth in his hands. “Thursday. Good night, Belle.” He let go and she headed toward a door.

“Good night, Shaun.” She went inside and he waited, just to make sure he was right.

A twinkling of light drew his eye in the darkness, and a candle was lit. Belle waved from above and he waved back before heading home.

He was right. 

…


	7. A Time to be Born, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle has a chat with her dad, Shaun cooks dinner, and a glimmer of change is in the air.

Belle locked the door behind her and slung her coat on the hook, leaving her bag, gloves, and keys in a heap on top of a stack of boxes.

Lord, she was going to have to do something about that soon.

Knowing that nine was coming, and that Moe French was ludicrously punctual for a man who carried scrap wire bits in his pockets, Belle dove for the box of matches on the table and pushed aside the sheer curtain. She snapped a flame into life and lit the candle just in time to catch the muffled lilt of Waltzing Matilda coming from her coat pocket.

“How’s my best girl?”

Belle grinned. “Fine, Papa. How’s your breakfast?”

“Perfect. I think they made my eggs nearly as well as you could today.”

Belle giggled. “Don’t make me come down there.” She idly plucked a dry leaf from the baby ficus. “You’ll be pleased to know that most of my plants are recovering. It’s taken nearly three weeks to rehab them since their stay in London, but I think most will make it. How is your conferencing system going?”

Moe huffed. “Damned awful. This time I snapped the mounts because the improved case added too much weight. My own stupid fault, but at least the vapor trap is coming along. I may have a perfect filter system built, but it’s too intricate for manufacture yet.”

“Sorry about the mounts. What did you make them out of?”

Moe hesitated. “Eh, resin.”

Belle raised an eyebrow at the phone. “Papa, you know better than that.”

“They were pre-fab. At least I know that won’t work now.” Moe slurped his tea and harrumphed. “Did you check your accounts yet?”

“I did, and thank you. Your residuals check hit my account this morning.”

“Any plans?”

Belle glanced around her tiny loft. “You know, I need a storage stand by the front door, and I bet a few boards would make a very good small bookshelf if I use the pipes as supports, and if I paint the pipes, I bet they’d be rather cute.” She stood from the table and turned, surveying. “My bed alcove needs drapes. Then there’s…” Belle went on for another minute, imagining out loud.

“You know,” Moe interrupted, just as she started to mention improving her kitchenette. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were in a better mood today.”

Belle laughed at herself. “I’d say you were probably right.”

“Well?” Moe prompted. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened, so you might as well get on with it.”

What did happen? Belle took a moment to think. It wasn’t a date, but it wasn’t exactly work. She’d helped him, but Shaun clearly wasn’t a man who really needed much help. So what happened? 

She felt her lips twitch upwards. “I didn’t have a date tonight, but I think I have one Thursday.”

Moe was silent. “Well that makes absolutely no sense.”

“I know!” Belle shook her free hand, trying to call forth an explanation. “I helped that man with a form, got to know them a bit, and now he’s picking me up from work Thursday.”

“A form?” 

“For the jobs centre,” Belle clarified.

“So wait,” Moe began. “He’s unemployed? Educated?”

The overhead light was harsh and, good lord, the plants were dusty. “Yes, and sort of. This is a tough area for that.” Belle dug a kitchen cloth out of a box.

“But you’re going out on a date with him.”

The rag she was wetting to wipe leaves with felt suddenly heavy. “Yes.”

“Bluebelle, are you sure? I mean, what does he do?”

“Well, it’s not so much what he _does_ as what he _can_ do, which is pretty much anything. Papa, he restored the original stone wall around a castle near here.” Belle swiped at a dust-frosted leaf and admired the shine. “This isn’t some rebound. It’s been almost five months since Gaston left, and I don’t think I have any rose colored glasses left after all of that.” She wiped off a few more leaves and moved on to the crocus. “If nothing else, I need a friend.”

Moe was quiet. “Stone walls, huh? Bet that’s a good story.”

Belle giggled. She felt like a girl, and she hadn’t felt that way in a while. “I made him promise to tell me all about on Thursday.”

The sound of scraped toast made it through the phone and Belle smiled. Moe took a crunching bite and slurped his tea. “So, let me get this straight—your bloke has a spotty employment record, is marginally educated, but can do just about anything?”

The crocus was looking better every day. “I know, Papa. He sounds a little familiar.” She folded the dusty cloth and turned the plant. “He understood your window frame schematic, and the mechanism.”

“Well, lord help us, he might be able to keep up with you.” Moe slurped again. “Where did he see my window frame patent?”

Belle stopped cleaning her plant. “In my office. I hung it in my office.”

Moe chuckled. “I can’t believe you decorated your wall with a scale drawing of a new window frame. Well, since you have it, maybe your bloke can fix your window up proper.”

“Yes, that would be good.” Belle said absently, listening to the cheerful jingle of coins as Moe thanked his server for a final refill.

“Well, my girl, this is me. Don’t stay up too late, and I’ll remember not to call on Thursday!”

Belle shook her head to clear it. “Still calling tomorrow?”

“Of course I am, Bluebelle,” Moe said warmly. “I’m so glad to hear your smile. And don’t go spending that money on just groceries, girl. When you fix your place up I want pictures.”

“Of course, Papa. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Belle.”

They rang off, and Belle turned to blow out the candle, unable to completely shake off the feeling of being off-kilter, but too excited to examine it.

She pulled the sheers closed and looked at her loft. It wasn’t a complete disaster, really, but the boxes weren’t helping. Belle walked to the front door, set her bag on the floor, and flipped the cardboard flaps open. 

…

Shaun leaned back into the door after he closed it. Processing the evening took much of his walk home and it led him to one conclusion: the pretty librarian liked him. The world could not be more ironic, but there it was: a librarian and a man who could barely read. 

He turned and locked the door. Tossed his keys on the table got out a cutting board. A potato, a carrot, and some onion. No, two potatoes and an extra chopped sausage. In case.

Thursday. Good lord, he’d need to decide what to do. There wasn’t much to see after dark in the village, not like in London. Was he supposed to impress her?

He was unemployed. Not exactly in a wine and dine sort of position, even if the village had that sort of scene to offer, though she knew that when she asked. Hell, she knew more about him than most.

A bit of oil in the pan and he turned on the gas. Chopped the carrot. It would be fine. A pint or two at the pub and maybe that would be all. Maybe share some chips, too, since neither of them was in any shape to pay for full meals out. Shaun hoped she wouldn’t object to potatoes and sausage if it came to it. He had eggs, too.

Shaun shook his head. Well, that was a bit optimistic, wasn’t it?

Thin light shimmered over the oil in the pan and Shaun tossed in the carrot and started cutting the potatoes. Not once, not ever did Katie stay for eggs. Oddly enough, it didn’t cut him anymore. Didn’t feel like a horrible mistake was made anymore. Twenty years will do that, he supposed, but twenty years did blur reality like the ripples in the air above the pan. It wasn’t hers or anyone’s fault. It just was, and the passage of time put a comfortable cushion between him and the old ache.

Speaking of cushions, he really had to fix that chair. Shaun tossed the onion and potato in the pan and set the lid on it. 

The sitting room felt less cramped now, with the bed gone and baskets of laundry elsewhere. No more full wastebaskets to trip over and no more wheelchair to bash into either. There was a hole about the size of a silly bugger that Shaun hoped was getting fed somewhere, but aside from that, the house was feeling more open. Still a bit stale, like time hadn’t passed in a decade. Funny, that.

Still missed Daz. The old prick could pull him out of a funk in a heartbeat, though it usually meant getting sworn at or teased at the least.

_Look at you, you sad wank. Choked up over some rubbish and a potato._

“It’s not the fucking potato.”

_The onion, then, you fucking twat._

“Daniel. It’s Daniel.”

_Fuck off. Daniel’s gonna be fine. He’s probably knee deep like his old man._

“Fuck you. I would have known. Fucking hell, I would have had to hold your prick up for you.”

_Fair point. Then again, you sad wank, I’m six feet deep, and you’re talking to nothing._

Shaun lifted the lid and dodged the billowing steam before tossing in the chopped sausage. That was what Daz would say. Probably a lot more, too, but Shaun didn’t really feel like listening anymore today, so he set the lid back on and tidied the sitting room. Took a lot less time than it used to.

He left the flier from the library out. Now that was a nice sight. Shaun reached into a cupboard to get a plate and realized that Belle would need a stool to reach that high, assuming she wasn’t trying to break a leg in those heels. In them she came to his chin, and the things had to be nearly four inches, so she’d only make it to his shoulder.

_Oh, well done, you fucker!_

How did such a tiny jewel end up barely employed in a dying village of the Midlands? Who let their daughter move so far away without prospects?

Shaun shrugged, unsure he really cared how Belle got there, but just happy she got there. Somebody out there was going to miss out on Thursday afternoon when he picked her up from the library. 

He turned off the gas and poured a glass of water, watching the bright overhead lights sparkle in the bubbles until they settled. Like the candlelight in her window, and the flash of her face as she lit it. Soft, golden light. Warm. 

She was warm, too (tingly fingers remember). Made him promise to tell her stories. Maybe she’d tell him about how she ended up here. He smiled to himself, and hoped Thursday would come soon.

Shaun sat at the table, unsure how his plate, fork, and cup had gotten there with him. It wasn’t until he’d eaten a few bites that he realized he’d only set the table for one, and the second serving was already packed away in the refrigerator.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night.

Shaun tried to find a comfortable position in the hard chair and, failing, nestled his Styrofoam cup of tea in his hands and watched the jobs counselor type.

“And finally, if you could just sign on the pad there, you’ll be all done.”

Shaun drained his cup and took the stylus. “Here?” 

The counselor didn’t look up. “Right, just in the wee gray square there.” 

With a deep breath, Shaun began. He curled his fingers around the tiny stylus and slip-dragged it through a few letters. The cup bent in his other hand, so he tossed it into the bin and tried to ignore the pile of shredded, crushed, and otherwise mangled Styrofoam already there. The counselor waited patiently as he scrawled, and it always made it a little worse, didn’t it? When the world stopped turning so he could write his name.

“Now, if you’re all through there, just press the green button to accept.” The counselor angled the monitor so he could see his signature, such as it was, and Shaun pressed the button.

“So, when do you expect--” Shaun began.

“We’ll send a confirmation email in the next hour, and your first cheque should come in the week after if everything’s good.”

“Great.” Shaun said. The counselor began to type again and Shaun pushed his chair back to stand.

“And,” the counselor began. Shaun settled back into his chair and tapped the plastic armrest. “Make sure you check the job site frequently. The good ones always go fast, so make sure you apply regularly.”

“Will do.” Shaun stood up. 

“And we’ll contact you for your next counseling appointment in two weeks. Keep an eye on that email, yeah?”

Shaun headed toward the door. “Yeah. Cheers.”

The counselor looked up. “What, got a hot date?”

Shaun smiled. “Something like that. I’ll check the email.”

.

There was money enough left from Christmas to spare some for a modest night out. With the promise of a cheque and maybe a job soon after that, Shaun imagined what it would be like to not count every pound. Well, maybe not quite every pound. Shaun was already calculating how much he would be able to set aside for Daniel.

Shaun checked the clock and the weather, and yes-- it was still February in the Midlands, so he slipped into his warmer coat and got ready to leave.

.

There were two pubs in the town, and they split mainly along football lines. The Sheffield Wednesday fans drank at one, while Nottingham Forest settled at the other end of the high street. Years had passed since Shaun had seen an entire game, so he barely knew who was in which league anymore. 

The Sheffield pub was closer to the library and, if memory served, Belle’s preferences in footwear made that the better choice tonight.

Shaun watched the sun set as he walked, and liked the way the light looked in the evening sky. Even though it was filtered through the valley mists, color streaked across the clouds, painting their undersides in broad sweeps of pastel. Yellow and orange faded to softer pink. Purple would follow soon. Mood lighting.

He was such an idiot.

.

Belle wrapped a pretty scarf around her neck and by the time the old church struck the last ring for five-o-clock, they were walking away from the library. 

Shaun started to shove his hands into his pockets then stopped himself. He fiddled his collar instead. “So, how was work?” 

“Good!” Belle said. “I think I got that problem with the voice recognition software sorted.”

“Really? How did you do that?”

Belle giggled. “Well, first I tried downloading a software update. When that didn’t work, I shouted abuse at it in my worst fake Cockney.”

Shaun almost tripped. “It worked after that?”

“No,” Belle said, deadpan. “I smacked the microphone on the table. Then it worked.”

Shaun stopped walking and stared at her. Conjured a mental image of her sweet kitten face swearing at a screen and smacking that stupid microphone a good one while standing in her skyscraper heels. He started to laugh. 

Belle grinned and slipped her arm under his. “So, where are we going?”

Shaun, still chuckling, pointed down the street. “You’re not a Nottingham fan, are you?”

“Nope. Used to follow Australian cricket, though.”

Shaun crooked his elbow and patted her hand. “I think we’re going to be just fine.”

.

The pub was warm and softly lit. No matches meant no rowdy crowds and plenty of free tables this early. It was perfect. And maybe a bit terrible. His nerves had kept themselves in check until now, but he was on a date.

A date. With a woman. And he had no idea when he’d last done that.

Belle pushed off her coat and unfolded a drinks menu card. “So, what do you usually have?”

Shaun looked up at the handles at the pub. “Just beer. Sometimes a bit of something more, but just, yeah. Beer.” He flicked at the heavy wood table, gouged with names, dates, and the occasional profanity. “You? What would you like?”

Belle flipped the card over and pointed. “House white wine will work for me.”

Shaun took the card and up to the bar. “Hey Douglas. How are you?”

Douglas the bartender was the third generation owner of the place and took his role as supplier, purveyor, and facilitator as seriously as he could. He even liked to wipe the bar as patrons approached, just so they had the image in their minds. “Good. What can I get you, Shaun?” 

Shaun set ten pounds on the bar. “One draft ale and a house white.”

Douglas leaned over to look at the table and raised an eyebrow at Shaun. “That the librarian?”

“Aye.” Shaun resisted the urge to look at his shoes.

The bartender smiled. “Well done.” He started the first pull for the ale and turned to pour the wine. Shaun turned to glance at the table and saw Belle there. She made a little wave. 

He waved back and caught himself in the mirror. He was smiling.

The thud of glass on ancient wood made Shaun turn. There was one extra glass; a whiskey glass with a generous finger of amber wetting the edges.

“Wait, I didn’t order this.” 

Douglas grinned. “Nope, you didn’t. That’s on the house. Courage, mate.”

Shaun knocked it back and coughed a bit at the burn. He was out of practice.

“Thanks. I needed that.” He picked up their drinks and headed back to the table, leaving his benefactor to the other handful of patrons.

.

They didn’t toast to anything, just took their first swallows with relief. 

“Alright,” Belle announced. “I’ve had enough awkward first date nonsense. You made me a promise and I expect you to deliver.”

Shaun froze. “I did?” He glanced up at the mirror and hastily dabbed at the foam moustache from his beer clinging to his face like a belligerent caterpillar. “I mean, you do?”

“Yes.” Belle set her wine glass down. “You have to tell me about the rock wall at the castle.”

Shaun started laughing, and Belle took a sip from her glass with a smirk on her face. Once he caught his breath, Shaun was able to relax and he took a deep draw on his beer. “Well, the castle you see was built in the early seventeenth century, but damage to the stones got bad in the nineteen-twenties. There wasn’t much anyone could do until after the wars, and so no one even bothered until a few years ago.”

Belle left her seat and settled into the booth next to Shaun. He traced the condensation on his pint glass when her knee bumped his. “How did you get the job?” Belle encouraged.

“So, I was between jobs after Daz moved in, and over a few pints a fancy bloke from Cambridge came looking for locals who knew how to lay stone…”

.

Shaun finished his tale and took a satisfying swallow. Belle had said nothing, but stared, neglecting her drink as Shaun told his story.

“Are you serious? You got to touch the actual original stones? Thousand year-old stones?”

“Aye, I did.” He sat up a little straighter. “The old wall took loads of work.” Whether it was his own or the whiskey, Shaun found a bit of bravery. 

“So, how did you end up here?”

Belle toyed with the stem of her glass. “Here? Or England in general?”

“Both.”

Belle lifted her glass and drained it. “I think I need another to tell that story.”

Shaun reached for her glass with a smile. “Same?”

“Yep.”

When Shaun brought fresh drinks back, Belle gave him a smile and scooted over in the booth to make room. Before he’d even settled, Belle drank down half her glass.

“There aren’t many library sciences programs in Australian universities, but there’s one in Sydney, so that’s where I went to school. I always dreamed that I could make the world better by making information and knowledge easy to use for everyone. There was also a very impressive business community in Sydney, and in my last year, I met Gary.”

Shaun cringed. 

“Gary was a junior manager in a multinational insurer. We hit it off, got a little serious, and right after I graduated he was offered a promotion if he came to London.” Belle looked down. “He asked me to come with him.”

Shaun took a drink to fill the pause. “Your father?”

“He wasn’t sure, until I told him about Oxford.” Belle took a drink, too. “Gary had friends, powerful friends. Through them, I got a paid internship with the Oxford library. It was like a dream come true.” Belle smiled, for a moment somewhere else. “Once I told my dad about it, he told me to go. He said I needed to grab these things with both hands. So I did.”

There are moments in people’s stories, Shaun knew, that needed a pause. Moments where you stop the telling just to rejoice the triumph or mourn what was coming. He knew too well.

“I was so happy. I worked on everything they’d let me touch and after six months, I was in the archives helping the department head digitize some of the oldest books in the western world. I carried cotton gloves around just in case they needed me to help move something and the smell of the books would be in my hair all day. I helped Gary entertain some of the most important business leaders in the world, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer dropped by once for tea.” She sipped just enough to wet her lips. “I just assumed it was going to stay that way.”

“But,” Shaun began, “it didn’t?”

“No. After a year and a half, Gary got an offer that would position him for upper management. He needed experience in Asia, and a stint in Singapore came up. He never mentioned anything for me to do there, and he never… proposed. I didn’t understand then.”

Shaun set down his glass. “Understand what?”

Belle looked up. “I was an accessory… kept. I was never going to be his wife.” Belle looked thoughtful, but not sad. “He thought I knew, but it had never crossed my mind. I guess Gary and I came from different places.”

“I have no idea what place that could be,” Shaun said without thinking.

Belle smiled gently. “He let me take all my things, clothes he’d paid for and so on, but my allowance was cut off the next month. I stayed with a few friends from the library, slept on couches, and tried to find a job.” She swirled her wine and swiped her thumb through the droplets on the side of the glass. “I found out I didn’t really have friends, and this was the only library willing to hire me. I used the last of my money to move here, and after a month I had enough to get my plants back, too.”

“Plants?” Shaun raised an eyebrow.

“I love my plants,” she said sternly, eyes twinkling with humor. “Don’t make fun. Most of them outlived the relationship.”

Shaun tried not to stare at Belle, and so he looked around the pub again. The evening crowd was beginning to gather and he was almost done with his pint. Another would take much longer if he waited, but he hated to leave just yet. You don’t walk away after a story like that.

“You’ve still got your dad, though.” Shaun drank down the last swallow of his beer. “How’s he taken all this?”

Belle propped an elbow on the table and perched her cheek upon her palm. “You know, I thought he’d be furious with Gary, or disappointed in me, maybe. The truth is, he just said he was really sorry, and asked if I was okay. He only offered to buy me a ticket home once. I told him he could buy me a phone instead.” She patted the pocket of her coat. “He gives me an occasional royalties cheque, but I like making my own way.”

Shaun had never seen a woman’s eyes shine the way Belle’s did when she spoke of her of her father. “After all that, you got on with her life. He must be very proud.”

Belle grinned. “He told me so a few days ago.” 

The mood had shifted, and Shaun glanced back at the early evening bustle. He pointed to her glass. “One more?” 

Belle held it up and judged the remaining third with a condescending eye before hoisting it in Shaun’s direction. “To your health!” 

She handed him the empty glass with a goofy smile that made his knees feel funny.

.

Douglas had his next beer halfway poured by the time Shaun found a spot at the bar. “Night going well, Shaun?” he asked over the nearby chatter.

“Yeah. I think these are the last for tonight.”

“That well?” Douglas teased. “Shame you’re leaving soon. Some nights I see Daniel. He was talking about seeing you soon.” 

Shaun tilted his head, fogged just enough with beer and whiskey that he might have misunderstood. “You said Daniel’s coming?”

The bartender sealed his pint and took down a fresh wineglass. “Aye. Comes in alone or with his lass. Pretty thing. Said he’d try to come round soon.”

Shaun closed out his tab and took the drinks. “Great. That’s great.” His head felt like it was floating a bit. Good news mixed with drink did that. 

“Thanks Douglas.”

When Shaun got back to the table, Belle took her wine and held up her glass as he settled in again. “Well, we’ve both aired our demons and we’re both still here. This calls for a toast.”

Shaun held up his pint. “Daz and I only did filthy toasts. You better do it.”

“That’s not fair!” Belle pouted. “You have to promise to tell me a filthy toast now.”

Shaun shook his head. “Not until after you do this one.”

“Fine.” Belle looked thoughtfully, then held up her glass a little higher. “Out with the old, in with the new, here’s to the future, and all that we do.”  
They both drank , then they set down their glasses with a satisfying thump on the heavy wooden table. 

“That was nice,” Shaun said. “Lame, but nice.”

Belle snorted. “Alright then. You have a go.”

Shaun cleared his throat. “If I stumble out this bar, I pray this night is worth the scar.”

“That’s not filthy.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to do the filthy one now.”

“Fine. Now.”

Shaun knew half a dozen awful toasts. As he dutifully raised his glass, he went with the least offensive one he could think of. “Here is to the girl on the hill, she says she won’t but her sister will.”

Belle sighed loudly. “Lame.”

Shaun kept his glass up. “May all your ups and downs be between the sheets.”

Belle giggled, but still refused to drink. “One more.”

“Nope,” Shaun replied. “I don’t think I’ll tell you the worst one.”

Belle set her glass down. “Why not?” 

The bar was definitely busier, too many bodies milling around in low light and the beer was going straight to his head. Shaun turned back to Belle. “Well, I need something to work with on our next date.”

“Oh, clever.” Belle raised her glass. “To the next date.” 

They both drank, and were nearly finished with their drinks. Belle was leaning closer than she had at the start of the night, and Shaun found that his hand had drifted to her knee. He quickly pulled it back and cleared his throat. 

Belle made no reaction apart from a little smile. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes just softened at the edges, shining a bit in the reflected lights when she looked at him. 

When eight o’clock chimed, the music suddenly grew louder and voices raised to keep up. The pub quiz was called and the ambiance changed, stifling their silly flirting with brash, thumping bass and what sounded like a carnival barker.

Belle lifted her glass and drained it. “There’s a chip shop around the corner,” she half shouted. “I think I could use some food. How about you?”  
Shaun nodded and drank down the last mouthful. They gathered their coats and headed to the door. As they passed the bar, Douglas the bartender gave Shaun a thumbs-up. Shaun gave a little wave and followed Belle out the door.

“Whew, it got loud fast,” Belle said in relief once they reached the pavement outside. She wobbled in her tall heels for only a moment and Shaun, perhaps a bit less wobbly, caught her by the elbow.

“There we go. Alright?” He chuckled a bit and they set off towards the shop.

“Don’t worry. Loads of practice in heels.” Belle adjusted a show strap and then took Shaun’s arm. “Gary was awfully tall and swore I looked funny next to him without them.”

Shaun stopped. “Wait, what would that have to do with anything?”

Belle looked up at him. “Well, I said he let me take all my clothes. I never said I got to pick them out.” Belle gave a lopsided smile. “Hungry?”

They set off and bought wax paper cones of steaming hot chips. The cones sent curls of steam into the cold evening air as they walked slowly towards her loft flat.

Shaun felt his stomach stop grumbling, but his head wasn’t clearing much. He’d had too much too fast for that, but it blurred the edges of the street and gave the walk a pretty patina. There really was nothing nicer than walking at night with a woman with just a bit of booze on you to loosen your walk. He liked the feel of Belle’s arm around his and her enthusiastic chatter. 

“I loved the café near the library at Oxford, and they had the funniest little man who served the tea. It was his ritual, you know, to bring you your tea and a little tiered tray with the treats.” She popped a chip in her mouth. “If you dared to eat anything out of order, he’d stand over you like you’d said something nasty about his mother.”

Shaun swallowed a mouthful. “Let me guess, you did it just to make him mad?”

Belle giggled. “I did it every third time. He said I was an ignorant colonist who didn’t know any better.”

“He said that?”

“Not exactly said,” she said. “He just thought it really loudly after Gary apologized for me there once.”

They got closer to her flat and the wind began to grow teeth. Belle pulled her hands into her sleeves as well as she could and still eat. “Wow. It’s going to get cold, isn’t it?”

Shaun looked up and saw how the clouds were swirling. “Aye. Need to check the weather.”

“I’ll have to pack a blanket around my window.” She shivered. “Bad draft.”

It crossed Shaun’s mind to offer to patch it up for her, but he thought maybe that was best for another day. They walked a bit further, disposing of the cold greasy remains of their chips. A gust of wind caught Belle’s hair, whipping it over her face and over Shaun’s sleeve, curling and wrapping his forearm for a moment before flying past his face.

“Here’s me,” Belle said as she stopped in front of her door, tucking her hair back behind her reddened ears. “I had a really great time.”

“Me too.” Shaun felt words trying to bubble up but they just couldn’t take shape just yet.

Belle scuffed her foot on the pavement. “I’ll see you at the library again soon, then. We can make that second date. If you want.”

He nodded. “Oh yes. I’ll be back.” 

Belle gave a little smile and started to dig in her pocket for keys. Shaun’s chest tightened. He had to do something quick. He didn’t want the evening to end. Not quite yet, and not like this.

“Belle?”

She looked up instantly, eyes twinkling a bit again. “Yeah?”

“I, uh… I think Gary was a fucking idiot.” His face felt hot and his weak legs had nothing to do with the whiskey and three pints.

Belle took her hand out of her pocket. “For what it’s worth, I can’t believe you’re single. Or unemployed.”

The fire he felt in his belly started to return. “I think you should be the head librarian.”

Belle laughed. “Well, I think you should win the lottery!”

“I didn’t mean this library,” Shaun began. The words started to pour out of him, words that had no place to go for a long while and no reason to be anyway. “I meant at Oxford. I know it’s ridiculous, but you dreamed it, right? Well, you want something, then you should fucking well have it.” Shaun could feel the surge begin to wane, but felt himself coming to a point. “It’s not stupid to want something. Even if you just want to hear someone to say it.” 

Belle stared. She stared at him with her mouth half open, puffs of shallow breath wisping into the wind. Shaun took half a step back, expecting a laugh or giggle. 

“Shaun?” Belle took half a step forward and waited for him.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah?” 

“Shaun,” Belle stepped close enough that her shoes bumped into his. “I think you should kiss me.”

Perhaps it was the whiskey, or maybe the beer. Maybe it was the confessions, the honesty, or the pretty little smiles. Shaun couldn’t say then, but whatever it was it unlocked his normal caution and sent him to Belle’s arms in record time. 

Belle’s lips were as soft as they’d looked against the wine glass. Little tickles of heat bloomed across Shaun’s face and into his arms, flipping in his belly and tensing his legs. It had been a long time. Too long, yet just right. If a kiss had come too soon, he might not be here. It might not have been with her, and that was something he wasn’t going to regret.

One hand rested at the back of his neck, holding him gently in place and just slightly shifting around, blazing little paths across his skin.  
It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. It was a first date, after all, and in a way he didn’t want more tonight. Stopping here was perfect. Her lips on his were perfect. The way she ended the kiss by lightly pulling at his bottom lip just a bit… perfect.

Belle didn’t let go, and Shaun didn’t either. Two people adrift need to hang on to life rafts whenever they can. He could feel her breaths by his ear, could feel the heaving through their coats.

“Shaun, I--”

“Saturday.”

Belle pulled back. “What?”

“Saturday,” Shaun repeated. “I’ll tell you a dirty toast on Saturday.” 

“Okay, good. I like that plan.” Belle gave a lopsided grin. “I’m afraid I’m going to insist on not spending so much this time, though.”

Shaun chuckled. “Suits me. Want to make dinner? I’ve got some potatoes and sausage.”

“I’ll cover the rest but on the condition that you look at my drafty window.”

“Deal.” 

Belle unlocked the door and stood, door half ajar, looking back at Shaun. With her keys in the door, she patted his chest through his heavy coat, then lifted up to kiss his cheek. 

“Good night, Shaun.”

He must have been grinning. He’d probably been grinning all night because his face hurt a bit, but it didn’t stop him. “Good night, Belle.” Not once did he feel the ground through his shoes all the way home. Not even over the gravel.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may try to re-do the chapter titles... I kinda overplayed the hand too soon when Ecclesiastes and The Byrds don't give me a lot to work with!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the date...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank theladyofthedarkcastle for the lovely beta job. She saved you from a fate worse than excessively awkward sentence fragments.

The light from the bare bulb over the door made Belle squint as she leaned back onto the door to close it. Winters evenings were dark here and her flat had been completely black when she flipped the light switch. Her eyes had not adjusted yet.

Neither had her heart—it was still pounding and dancing a bit.

Belle looped her scarf over a pipe and laid her coat out to dry near the radiator, stepped out of her heels and set them in the rack by her bed with the rest of her shoes. The collection was ridiculous and sublime, but really quite impractical here in the country. 

She giggled, imagining herself in a pair of giant green wellington boots. They’d probably reach mid-thigh, she was so short, which sent her into giggles, wobbling to make it to the kitchenette for a drink of water.

That’s how she knew the night had been real, because without the pinkish glow from a few glasses of cheap wine, she might have assumed it wasn’t. She poured a drink and wondered if the warm fuzziness was actually the real thing, and the date that wasn’t quite real.

Existential crisis brought on by rotgut. She gulped down the water and set down the cup, then noticed how the bright light from the bulb caught the finger smears on her glass. She’d definitely been eating chips, and the tingle in her lips and the warmth in her belly meant the kisses had been real, too. 

Sparks crackled across her scalp. Those had been good kisses. Very good kisses.

Maybe she’d have a bath before bed. And tea.

Belle ran the bath and checked the water as it warmed. As long as she kept the door to the small bathroom closed, she didn’t need to turn up the heat, though when she thought about it, this was going to present some interesting challenges on Saturday.

She turned off the taps. Saturday. Her next date. The only way to the bathroom was through her bedroom, nearly right over her bed. Belle dropped her tights in her laundry basket and turned on the kettle. Well, they were both in the same boat, right? It’s not like he was expecting a curated art glass collection like her old city friends did. It was fun, but the light of day tended to be a little unforgiving to flaws.

And she could never have eaten chips.

With another giggle, she poured hot water over her teabag and took her chipped mug to the bath and set it on a small stool by the tub. The room was steamy and warm, easily the warmest in the flat. Some nights she took hot showers and left the door open just to warm up her alcove of a bedroom. 

Tonight, she swished her fingertips through the water to test it, then slowly unbuttoned her shirt, slid it off and pushed her skirt down until it puddled on the floor at her feet. Her panties and bra followed, not one of her matched sets, and she settled into the hot bath. The edge of the tub was cool where Belle leaned her head and it helped clear the fog in her mind.

God, that had been a good kiss. And a good date, really. Good dates didn’t always lead to good kisses. Calm and soft, but just this side of hungry. It could be more, but it wasn’t ready yet, and that was fine. Fine for tonight. 

Belle took a sip of tea and stretched out her toes. When she set her cup down, she couldn’t help graze her belly with her fingertips, liking the feel of touch after such a nice evening with her senses so pleasantly muzzy. For just a moment, she let herself imagine how different those strong hands would feel. Her hands were soft, barely callused anymore from writing since she did so much typing now. She hardly used them for more than flipping through a reference or handling copies. Nothing like hands that could build rock walls.

Her eyes slipped closed and she breathed in the steam, imagining the warmth was someone rather than something, and let her hands drift in the water. He’d be shy, wouldn’t he? Probably start with just stroking her neck and shoulders, maybe run his fingers through her hair. She caught Shaun staring at her hair in the mirror once. He looked like he’d barely caught himself from playing with it once or twice.

Belle smiled. He hadn’t avoided her knee once he had a second beer. Would he stroke up or down? Cool air tickled her foot as she lifted her leg out of the bath. He might stroke down, get a lay of the land, before he headed higher. Shaun seemed the type to linger a bit, like he enjoyed the details, but he’d not fiddle about too much. After a kiss that had her lips tingling even now, she wasn’t sure she’d want to wait too long, either. 

The tiled room made her gasp louder than she expected. She didn’t realize how much she needed this, how much she’d denied herself with the whirlwind that brought her here. It had too long, far too long if a kiss and a cheap wine buzz had her like this. Too long without good attention, longer than… Another brush had her pushing at the end of the tub with her sore feet for traction. Her eyes fell open, groping for focus.

Her gaze fell on the shoe rack. Loaded with gorgeous designer confections in several reliable, easily coordinated colors.

Every one of them paid for by Gary.

“Shit,” Belle muttered. She managed to muck this up, too. She hadn’t meant to go on about him, but Shaun asked, and she was only honest… and a bit drunk. 

Belle dunked her head and started washing her hair. There was nothing like a bit of wrecked fun to sober you up, and now she was a ball of nervous energy. When she finished, she let out the drain and took her teacup back to the kitchen for more.

With her hair in a towel and the wine swiftly leaving her system, Belle looked around her flat. There was no chance of sleep and a billion things to do if she was going to have a dinner guest. No time like the present.

In her pajama pants and a faded shirt from her university (she specifically skipped the ones from Oxford), Belle dumped out the first box and started sorting through it. Piles migrated from one area to another and soon the next box was dumped out as well. She could use the next morning to visit the hardware shop and buy some boards and paint, and maybe the fabric shop after for something to hang as a partition to her bed. 

Her father would be asking about her flat, so she’d better start getting pictures. Belle rummaged in her coat for her phone to begin her ‘before’ pictures. When she pulled it out, the text message light was blinking.

_I said I wouldn’t call, but I can’t stand it. Hope you had a good night. Let me know how it goes, Bluebelle._

Belle smiled. Well, she didn’t have to give him all the gory details, but she could certainly send a text.

_Great evening, tell you all about it tomorrow. Going to work on the flat soon. I’ll send pictures. Call tomorrow? Love you._

She pressed send and looked around the little flat. It looked worse than when she started, but that’s how it went. You’ve got to tear everything down and get a good look at it before you begin again.

…

Sunshine sparkled so brightly off the rippling pond that his vision blurred. Tried to squint or blink to clear his watering eyes, but it didn’t seem to help. It never seemed to.

“You gonna stand there all day, mate?” Daz laughed and goaded him on. “Do I need to give you a push?”

Shaun took off running, leaving the pond and Daz behind and striking out towards… somewhere. Wasn’t sure what he was following yet, but he could hear the footsteps up ahead. Could follow the zig zag path of broken grasses, their heavy seed heads drooping over splintered stems. 

Sunlight caught the floating debris in a trailing whirlwind of golden shards and dust and Shaun easily followed, gaining ground. He was getting closer to the footsteps, but his eyes were watering again and the details were getting lost in wavering lines and distortion. Thank goodness they were running toward the copse of trees, where the sun would filter through layers of leaves and the ground was soft and cool.

He was right behind her now, and she led the way to their favorite hiding spot, hair whipping in dark curls behind her. Together, they slipped past the brambles and set their feet into well-worn ruts and on tree roots where their careless steps had worn away the bark and polished the wood smooth. When they finally reached their spot, they collapsed on their backs to catch their breath.

“Shaun?”

“Aye?” He looked over, but only saw the pile of brown curls heaped over his shoulder. Shaun didn’t try to see her face, he knew it would only blur. “What is it, sweetheart?”

A cascade of hair fell into his face as she rolled onto an elbow and leaned over him, pressed against his side. A cool hand touched his cheek, ran through his hair.

“I think you should kiss me.”

.

Shaun opened his eyes to the darkness of small hours and sat up, scrubbing his face and scalp. It was surprising, having that scene play out in his dreams. He hadn’t really thought about Katy in some time, not like that at least. He could recognize that Katy was the crutch that got him through a hard time, and the memory of her was his last link to a place that he could never go back to.

But why now?

Shaun laid back and smiled as the fog of sleep lifted. Half of the dream was already gone, but he’d managed to grasp the last few details, catching them and letting them lodge in his mind.

One detail let him close his eyes. One detail let him frame the dream in a whole new way.

Shaun sighed with contentment and reached up to his lips. The echo of the kiss was still there. He rolled over, clung to the images, and let the remnants of the dream wash over him without remorse.

Because Katy had short blond hair.

.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night.

Fortified by eggs, toast, and tea, Shaun rustled around in his tiny shed, double checking the contents of his tool bag and mentally drawing up a list. By the time he finished here and made it to town, the local DIY would be open. His tube of sealant was long dried to a rubbery clot and he needed a few other things if he was going to make the window tight, assuming it didn’t need to be replaced. In that case he could limp it through, at least until Belle could afford a better place.

Or didn’t need to.

Shaun swallowed, and shoved the thought from his mind. It was one date. One date and a promise of a second. Nothing more… for now.

Mentally reviewing his shopping list with enough care to drive other thoughts from his head, Shaun headed out, turning his collar against the scraping wind.

…

The early afternoon light cast moody, halfhearted light through the drafty window, chilling Belle’s ankles and rustling the dry leaf her waxy croton had dropped in the night.

“None of that, now,” she muttered, and tossed the leaf into the bin. “I still need some good shots for Papa. Don’t want him to think I’m neglecting you.” 

Or herself, though the brighter colors in her flat were sure to impress him, even if it meant paying a fine when she moved out. If the landlord had brains, he’d pay her for touching the place up.

Well, that wasn’t exactly likely, but it didn’t matter. The residuals check covered the shopping she’d done so far and there was even some left over after buying a decent bottle of wine and a few more things for dinner.

Her new gold paint livened up the bare brick wall and the boards would be perfect shelves once the paint on the pipes dried. The pretty fabric divider in front of her bed looked like a soft wall of climbing roses and a carpet in fresh green made her small flat feel like a garden in spring rather than the drafty old industrial loft that it was. A squat little bookshelf gave her a place for her few books and a perfect spot for her teacup when she sat to read. 

Belle snapped her last photo and started emailing the series of ‘after’ pictures to her father. Once that was done, she flopped on the sofa and ran a critical eye over her work. The pipes were a bit streaky, and the brick was decidedly paint-thirsty, a bit of the old red showed through the gold here and there, and the secondhand rug had a threadbare patch where a chair had rubbed it bare. Not a trace of high concept midcentury design. 

It was absolutely perfect. 

With a grimace, Belle let her slippers fall to the floor. Her feet were still stiff from the night before, so she flexed her toes to loosen them. The girl at the furniture shop had admired the heels she was wearing while she shopped, but said there was no way she could possibly afford a pair like them. Not working as a shop girl.

But then, Belle thought, the girl was quite petite. And everyone deserves a few nice things, right?

With a flounce, Belle hopped off the sofa and headed out for one more errand.

…

Invited to dinner. How long had it been since he’d been to dinner with a woman at all, forget being invited over for dinner?

Shaun paced through the kitchen and out to the lounge. It would be fine. It would be completely normal—two adults cooking and eating a meal together because they didn’t want to waste money letting someone else cook liked each other enough to not need to be somewhere else. 

Or maybe she needed her window fixed. That would be fine, too. He could do that, but he really hoped that Belle wasn’t looking for a handyman. Shaun could fetch and carry and fix and repair, but he wasn’t sure he was really keen on being anyone’s free labor, no matter how much porno he’d seen. He wasn’t exactly made to be the delivery man with the heavy box. 

Tomorrow evening was still some time away, so Shaun busied himself checking his tool bag once more and went out for a breezy walk, managing to pick up a little work as he strolled through the neighboring streets. Storm season was coming, they said, and did he had a roll of weather stripping lying about these days? Perhaps some stuff to fill in cracks and seal the wee chinks that let in the damp and cold? That was how he made his way lately, and he wasn’t about to complain.

With his feet a bit lighter at the prospect of a bit of paying work, Shaun snuffled his watery nose in a tissue on his way in the door and planned to pour himself a finger of whiskey in celebration.

That was what he planned to do, but there was a slip of paper on the table. Scribbles in heavy pencil.

Shaun, having completely forgotten the drink, sat heavily in the chair and smiled. He traced the familiar too-hard indents in the paper fondly and carefully re read the hasty note a few more times-- heard he’d had a date, sorry he’d come at a bad time, would try to drop by another day. The boy was growing up… not long ago there would have been profanity, or nothing at all. 

The bottom of the slip of paper made Shaun smile. So it was Dan now, was it? Perhaps that’s what his girl and looking for a proper job had done for him. Frozen in time for so long, maybe now, without the shadow of his father pinning him down, he could get on with his life.

Shaun looked around the stark little kitchen, scrubbed to within an inch of its chipped, peeling chrome and flowered tiles, and through to the faded beige lounge. As he wondered, he fingered the note-- feather light in his hands, like it might float away. 

...

Belle was fresh from a bath and grinning when Waltzing Matilde began to play.

“Did you like what I did?”

Maurice French laughed, and it was a wonderful sound even down a phone from ten thousand miles away. “Not even a ‘Hello Papa?’ today? Straight into it?”

Belle flopped into her small sofa. “Yes. I want to know what you think. I’ve been dying to know since I took the pictures! What do you think?”  
Clink of silver on a plate. “I didn’t know people really painted brick, and I certainly didn’t think gold, but--” He paused and Belle rolled her eyes as her father took an overly dramatic sip.

“Well?”

He chuckled. “It’s brilliant, my girl. Your mother would adore the drapes.”

“She did love roses.” Belle glanced at the pattern, liking the way the blooms were placed to catch the eye, rather than overwhelm it, as they reached toward the ceiling. “I admit, I sort of thought of her after I chose them.”

“I like that.” The pause was heavy, without the cheerful scrape and tink of the table. “Oh, listen to us, my girl, all serious. That, your mother wouldn’t have liked at all. Your place is beautiful and it looks all your own. Better than when you were with Gordon.”

Belle laughed. “Gary, but yes. Much better, though we’ll see how my date likes it tomorrow.”

“My god, Belle, how could I forget! You had a date! How did it go? If he’s a creep, I’ll come whallop him myself.”

“We just met for a drink, and we ended up having some chips. It was a really lovely date, Papa. You’d like him.” Belle pulled the towel off her hair and pushed the damp stuff away from her face. “Since we’re both a bit broke, I invited him over to cook dinner with me.”

Maurice hesitated. “That’s not code, is it?”

“No, Papa. No code. I asked him to take a look at that drafty window, too. He’s quite handy. You’d like him.”

“Did you kiss him?”

Belle spluttered. “Um, I uh—that is, I guess… yes?”

“Then as your father I have to distrust him. But if he can fix your window, I give you permission to kiss him again.”

“Well, I said he’s quite handy.”

Maurice harrumphed. “Which reminds me, did I tell you that I have a meeting with an investor about the battery system in a fortnight? He said he’d take a look at the rebreather as well.”

“That’s wonderful!” Belle sat up and tossed her towel over a chair. “That’s so exciting! You’ll have to let me know right away how it goes.”

“I will, Bluebelle. Now off you go, I have work to do and you need sleep. Remember, no kissing unless he fixes that window. I’ll not have my Belle shivering.”

“Good bye, Papa. Love you.”

Belle conveniently left out that a kiss had already made her shiver.

...

The day had been unseasonably warm, but Saturday evening arrived with a clear sky promising a colder night. Shaun, hefting his tool bag, kept his big coat unzipped on his way to town. His better wool jumper was warm enough, and he didn’t want to break a sweat as he walked. 

Keeping a cool head was his main goal. No matter what happened, this was new and new was good. 

The pavement to her street was dry, but splotches remained here and there and Shaun stepped to avoid them. He couldn’t imagine how awful it would look if he left tracks all over her flat. 

Belle’s flat. He knew he was there—how do you forget where your last kiss was?

Shaun looked up. No candle in the window, but then, they weren’t for him, were they? Maybe someday. And it was too early to go leaving candles in the window anyway. Stupid and sentimental.

With a deep breath, Shaun rang the buzzer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Belle?”

“Shaun! Come on up. Let yourself in, top of the stair.”

The stair is narrow and creaky, and he glanced at the first door on the landing before heading up the rest of the way. By the time he climbed to the top stair he could hear the movement inside. The stairs noisily punctuated every third step, and anyone who’s lived in a loft can tell you that they know each step after a few weeks, so there’s no time for a pep talk on the landing. Shaun gripped the doorknob and pushed.

“Hi Shaun, let me set this in the oven and I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.” He can’t see her yet in this funny long galley of a flat, so he sets down his tool bag, retrieves the sausages, and uses the moment to look around. 

He’d never think to do up a place like this, but in here, in this little flat, it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. The colours complement the industrial feel  
of the place and he felt like he was visiting the best side garden in the village. 

“Sorry,” Belle called from the tucked away kitchenette. “I just wanted to get the potatoes in the oven.” 

Shaun hung his coat on a rack by the door. “I brought my tools and the sausages. Can I help with anything?”

“Well,” a pan lid clattered. “You could open the wine?”

As the warm smell of roasted potatoes filled the flat, Shaun made his way to the small sofa and sat with the bottle and the two glasses he’d found by the bottle. “You’ve got neighbors?”

“You mean downstairs? That’s the landlord’s mum.” A pan rattled. “Sweet old lady but she doesn’t go out really.”

“Too bad.” Shaun looked at the empty glasses. “It’s good to have friends around.”

Belle stepped out from the kitchenette, smiling, and padded to the sofa. It wasn’t until she’d sat next to him that Shaun remembered to pour her a glass.  
It wasn’t that she was dressed to impress, it was that she looked so touchable in her long sweater and leggings. She looked at home.

And he was seeing her that way. 

And staring. “You look nice,” he managed.

“Thank you.”

“But not that you don’t always look nice, I mean, you’re always so class and that.” Shaun rubbed his temple as Belle’s eyes widened. “No, that sounded bad, you’re class now, but like, comfortable. Like you’re at home.” He took a deep drink of his wine. “Those socks look very warm. Don’t you always wear heels?”

Before he could continue, Belle put a hand on his arm. “I am at home. And I thought about the other night, what you said about Gary.”

Shaun bit his tongue. “I had no right to say that.”

“No, no,” Belle shrugged. “You were right. And I, um…” she swirled her glass and held it to her lips. “I sold all but one pair of the heels.” She grinned and took a drink.

“Really?”

She nodded. “Really. For less than a tenth of their value. You’ll be seeing some very class shoes about town, just not on me.”

Shaun swallowed as Belle tucked her legs up on the couch. If she stretched out, her legs would be in his lap. “What will you wear?”

With a grin, Belle pointed towards the corner with a socked foot. “Proper boots.” 

They were flat, sturdy, and lined. What she should have been wearing all along. “Good. Glad to help.”

Belle held up her glass. “To having friends around and good shoes.” They drank and Belle smiled slyly as she nudged his hip with her foot. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

She left her foot pressed against him. “Forgotten what?” Shaun asked distractedly.

“The filthy toast. It better be good.”

Shaun chuckled. “I’m only going to disappoint, there’s been far too much build up!” He held up his glass. “To love that goes on for miles, may it be paid in six inch installments.”

Belle tried to drink, but spluttered into her glass instead. Shaun watched as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Oh, that was cuter than I expected! I thought it was going to be something just awful.”

“It’s a toast, not a dirty story and no, we’re not starting on that!” Shaun had adjusted his seat, leaning back on a cushion and angled towards Belle. “I’d rather hear about the work you did in here.”

Shaun sipped his wine and watched Belle’s face illuminate with pride.

And like that, warmed by wine and the smell of a meal cooking, the awkwardness was gone.

…

Belle scooted him out of the kitchen after they ran out of excuses to keep eating and drinking. “I’ll wash up while you have a look at the window.”

Dinner had been nothing really special, but there were more fresh vegetables than he’d expected and that was a nice surprise. A luxury considering the budget she was probably on. And a second bottle of wine. Shaun’s head was buzzing pleasantly as he bent and unpacked the scraper and sealant.

The room spun just a bit when he stood up straight. “Uh, Belle, I may make a mess of this job.” He waved the tube of sealant at her. “That last glass was strong, yeah?”

Belle came out of the kitchenette, wiping her hands with a tea towel. “Oh, you’ll be fine. You can’t possibly make it worse, see?” She walked by him, bumping into his shoulder on the way. 

So she was a little wobbly, too. That made two of them. The thought made Shaun smile a little wider.

Belle held her hand up to the window frame and shivered. “All around here, Shaun.” She pulled back the curtain and sheer liner. “Brrr. Cold air just pouring down! Feel!”

Shaun stood still. There was the candle; a heavy white pillar with the edges curled inward from being burned. The same he’d seen lit at night, he was sure. Belle’s outstretched hand waited and he took it, wasn’t sure what was taking him so long.

Belle guided his hand all around the window, and though he could feel where the chilly air poured from the joints, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her holding his hand in her house with the cozy feel of a good dinner and one glass too many of wine.

She held his wrist so his hand was under a down draft of cold air. They were close enough to the window that it nudged an escaped curl at her temple. “Do you feel it, Shaun?”

He slid his wrist from her grip and held her hand. “I do. I feel it.”

Belle froze and looked up at him, eyes bright and wide. She glanced at his mouth. “Fix the window quick.”

“What?”

“Fix it quickly, please.” Belle did not let go of his hand, and her eyes kept glancing down, to his lips.

Shaun opened his mouth and closed it, then released her hand and got to work. Maybe he’d overstepped his place, moved too quickly, but that wasn’t the impression she was giving. He took the scraper and stripped out the old sealant, careful not to drop bits of the brittle, crumbling stuff everywhere. No rot, just gaps and a few cracks in the frame. A proper repair would patch those, then reseal, but she said quick.

Maybe he’d best be off when he was through. Shaun scrubbed the edges with clean rags soaked with cleaner and wiped it dry afterwards. He wrapped the window with gummy, v-shaped weather stripping, then ran a thick bead of sealant round the whole thing and smoothed it with his fingertips, wiping the residue off with the rags. No more than a half hour later, Shaun started to pack away his things.

Belle stayed nearby the whole time, watching quietly and letting him work while she sipped her drink. When Shaun closed up the bag he looked up and spotted his coat on the hooks. “Well, it’s probably getting late. I’d best--”

Belle did not let him finish. She had her arms around his neck in a hug that threw him off balance before he could finish his sentence. 

“You’re going to think it’s stupid,” she confessed, bumping against the wall by the window. 

“What?” He’s slow on the uptake, but he’s not an idiot, so he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. 

“My father.” Belle leaned back to speak and Shaun found himself stealing glances at her pink cheeks. “He gave me permission to kiss you but only after you fixed the window.”

Shaun swallowed. “Better check it then.” He unwound her arms from his neck and turned her so she faced the window again. Like she’d held his, he guided her hand along the edge of the window. “Not perfect,” he noted, “but much better. No draft.”

Belle held her arm out, sleeve runched up to the elbow and damp at the cuff from washing up. She was just inches away, but Shaun hesitated, not entirely sure he could lay his hands over that pretty sweater and find where the ivory cables ended and she began, so he kept one hand on her arm. As Belle moved her hand around the window, Shaun let her arm slip in his palm until his arm was under hers, lightly half-hugging her from behind.

“Belle?”

She took a tiny step back, right into his arms. Shaun buried his nose against the soft spray of her curls and breathed. He cupped her elbow as she half turned in his arms. 

She tasted like wine and experience and a life that didn’t get put on hold. Like regrets that weren’t bitter but simply took their place in line behind the sweetness to hold them up for the taking.

He took her hand when she held it out.

She felt like silk and velvet and the warmth from above in the summer sun with cool dark earth underneath you. Like chasing through golden hills and tumbling into the hidden copse of an ancient tree and staying there until the shadows grew long and the chill crept in. Like the best he’d ever been and could be again right here and right now.

 _“Shaun,”_ she whispered, blooming like the roses on the curtains.

This was something. It could be _everything_. 

The night was generous, slowing time for them and saving the morning for others. It was still impossibly dark when Shaun half roused in a strange bed with warmth pressed at his back. He sighed so contentedly at the sleepy kisses planted at the base of his neck that he drifted once more. When light cracked the curtains, Belle tugged at his shoulder and slid her leg over his waist.

Life could be without regrets, and would never be put on hold again.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely did not plan for that to happen, but these two were standing by the window and...
> 
> The song for the date is "Rose and Bernard's Theme" from Lost. Go listen to it, omg.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after, and things begin to shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been scarce. I've had good reasons, but I actually felt like writing tonight. This was the story that's nagged me the hardest, for more reasons than I care to think about.

The Sunday church bells followed Shaun as they released the faithful back into the wild. Their ringing clung to the overcast skies and bounced in familiar conversation between the stone walls lining his walk.

There was a spring in his step completely out of place with the chilly gray sky, and he made no effort to hide it.

Shaun closed his door behind him and went to the toilet. He hadn’t noticed during the walk, but he was chafed for the first time in years, and the muscles in his lower back and arse were sore. Well, those were just signs of his own neglect, weren’t they? He chuckled at himself as he washed his hands, then decided to strip down and shower despite not having even been to his room yet.

He didn’t want to wash the night away yet, but there were things to be done and it always helped to start with yourself. When he was done he went upstairs to dress, skin still steaming in the chilly air. Shaun’s feet led him back to the kitchen, and he paused in the faded living room.

Belle’s flat was so pretty. And she’d done it with just a bit of paint and some curtains, really. And bravery. It took bravery to make a change like that. There was always the risk that it might not work, but you’d never know if you didn’t jump in.

In the kitchen, he reached for the kettle and the box of tea, then stopped, recalling that he’d already had two cups. And toast. It wasn’t much but it was hardly any different than what he would have eaten at home, except that Belle didn’t have marmalade.

But her kisses had tasted of strawberry jam, and that suited him just fine. 

Not bothering with the kettle, Shaun shuffled back to the lounge and sat with a few sheets of paper and a pen. Hoping that a bit of Belle’s bravery had rubbed off on him, he looked around the room again, imagining fresher color in place of the yellowed beige. There were possibilities here, ideas caught in the suspended dust. Shaun swiped his hand and watched them whirl.

He was sketching a few shelves when there was a loud knock at the door, breaking his concentration. Before he could stand from the chair, the door swung wide.

“Shaun? You home?”

Shaun’s heart throbbed. “Daniel?” He sprang up out of the chair and launched himself across the room. There had been so much these past few weeks, so much and so few outlets for it all. He flung an arm around Daniel’s wiry shoulders.

“Easy Shaun, you’ll knock me over!”

“Don’t care. I may just chuck you from the window,” Shaun teased as he clapped Daniel on the back. There was so much he wanted to say, but had no way to form the words properly. The day had gone from wonderful to perfect and Shaun had no idea how to be thankful enough.

He pushed Daniel back by the shoulders and looked him over, checking him like the concerned parent he was. For his part, Daniel ran a self-conscious hand through his hair and looked around. “Sorry I haven’t been by.” He kicked at the edge of a faded throw rug. “Things have been mental and I had some shite to deal with. Imagine you have, too”

Shaun opened his mouth and closed it again. There were no words for how much had happened these last weeks. They stood together for a moment there in the small kitchen space. Daniel rocked on his heels.

Shaun slapped himself in the face. “What are we doing? Sit down there while I start some tea.” He half dragged Daniel into one of the rickety kitchen chairs and then started opening cupboards to get the kettle and mugs. While the kettle warmed, Shaun got out the tea and milk. 

“So, you’re looking well.” Shaun said as he set the mugs on the table. “Your girl feeding you proper, then?”

Daniel smiled. “Annie’s a good cook, yeah. Her sister makes sure there’s plenty around to eat, provided we wash up and chip in.”

Shaun nodded and got up when the kettle sang. “You living there now?”

“Yeah.”

There was so much he wanted to ask, but this was tricky ground. Somehow, they had passed a dozen years of conversations with hardly any of consequence. Shaun tossed bags into the mugs and poured the water. “Any plans?”

“Not yet.” Daniel cupped his mug in his hands and breathed in the steam. “Job seekers for now but, you know.”

Shaun nodded. “I do. I start next week.”

Daniel looked up. “I heard. Sorry.”

“It’ll be fine. Have to check the email regular, see what turns up.” 

“Yeah.” Daniel looked around. “You don’t have a computer, do you?”

The faded kitchen took on a sudden glow in the late morning light. Shaun’s eyes drifted to the window, drawn by the golden flashes.

“Annie’s got one if you need to check,” Daniel said. “I use it and it’s fine.”

Beams of thin light came in the kitchen and Shaun imagined another window. Belle. The way she breathed his name, the way she moved and felt against him. Lips on his skin and her body in his hands. Sunshine in the summer and shade from the heat.

“Shaun? Need a computer?” 

Shaun looked up from his cup. 

Daniel was peering at him with one eyebrow raised. “Are you fucking drunk?”

“Sorry, no.” Shaun quickly reached for a spoon and fished out the teabag. “I just check it at the library. It’s no trouble.”

Daniel took the spoon and tilted his head, hardly looking down as he dredged out his own teabag. He took a sip, watching Shaun intently.  
“Well, fuck me,” Daniel finally said, dumping sugar into his cup. “Look at you, big man!”

Shaun chuckled nervously. “Talking out your arse.”

Daniel tapped the kettle with his sugar-frosted spoon. “Your boots are wet by the door, you haven’t used your kettle today till now, and your hair is wet from a shower.” He waggled his eyebrows. 

Shaun’s chest swelled in spite of the heat rising along his neck. “Don’t know what you’re on about.”

“I know what I’m on about. I had two parents growing up, Da’ and you, my titless mum. I know you’ve always had tea by seven if you were working the day, and by nine if you worked late.” Daniel leaned forward. “It’s after ten, Shaun.”

Shaun grinned. “Late night.”

“Me too.” Daniel made a show of stretching his back. “Stopped for a pint with Annie yesterday. Douglas said you popped in with the librarian.” 

Daniel held up his tea with a smile. “Here’s to them that’ll have us.”

Shaun raised his cup. “May they never regret that they had us.”

.

After they had tea, Daniel found Shaun’s sketches and agreed that some changes needed to happen in the house. They agreed to pool a little money and buy paint and a few things to update the place. As soon as they locked down some work, they could do more.

“You can’t have a bird over, Shaun. It’s fucking depressing in here.”

“Yeah, gonna start in my room. Give it a proper clear out and then finish up in here.”

Daniel headed to the door. “Give us a call when you need a hand, yeah?” He started to turn the handle, but stopped. “Shaun, look, I’m sorry I’ve been scarce. Had some shite to work through, you know? I won’t be so long, I swear.”

Shaun half tackled Daniel in a hug, squeezing his air out for a moment. Later, he had no idea what he said, but Daniel’s eyes were a bit watery as he left. 

…

Belle switched on a lamp and smoothed the faint creases from her clothes as she laid them out for the next day. Late evening had come early with the heavy cloud cover, but she had hardly noticed-- for Belle, the world had come into full bloom mid-winter.

She’d even chosen a pretty pink to wear the next day. A color completely out of season, and she really didn’t care because it made her cheeks glow and her eyes bright and that was how she felt. Bright and glowing and why not?

Her insides flipped again. 

“Careful,” Belle muttered to herself. It was too soon to feel like this, wasn’t it? Or maybe this was just right. After the last year, she deserved to feel like her head was floating an inch above her neck with the wild lightness that comes with newness. 

The plants needed water, so Belle gave them all a handful of fresh potting soil before dribbling water into the pots. Then, tutting absently at herself, she wiped the dust from the waxy leaves. 

“If I can’t look after you, how can I ever look after someone else?” 

She blushed. She meant more plants of course. Maybe roses someday, when she had a garden, and informed her mottled croton. Wouldn’t want the plants getting the wrong idea. 

Belle dropped the rag into her basket and laughed at herself. Now she was lying to her plants. As if she needed any more proof that she was falling in love. 

Waltzing Matilda and the buzzing of her phone dancing across the table broke Belle’s reflection and she hurried to answer.

“Papa! How are you today?” 

“I’m grand, Bluebelle. You sound chipper, my dear! What’s got you so happy?”

Belle’s face warmed as she lit the candle in the window. “Well, you ought to know. My window is perfectly draft-proof, if that helps you at all!”

Maurice paused. “Oh, you had a draft? Awful thing there, I’d imagine. Had a man come round to fix it did you?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Papa. My date, Shaun, did a lovely job fixing it. And, you know.” 

“Know what, dear?” The quiet from the other end was odd. 

“Fine,” Belle laughed. “If you need to live in denial, I’m not about to ruin that for you. So, how is your work?”

A relieved sigh came from the other end, and Belle could hear her father’s smile as much as imagine it. “Well, I’ve got that meeting coming up, so got that to look forward to. Of course, things aren’t quite finished, so I’ll be up nights just polishing the prototypes. You know, a bit of spit and tape and all.”

Giggling, Belle reached for a glass and poured herself a glass of wine. “I seem to remember a few all-night sessions when you had only just had time to rewire or reassemble something or other.” She took a sip. It was the bottle they hadn’t quite finished the night before and the taste brought a rush of memory. Maurice jabbered happily about projects from years ago as Belle leaned her forehead against the wall by the window.

“And that, my girl, is how I made the whole of Australia’s aircraft industry update their pipe-fitting!”

Belle came back to the present. “And that, Papa, is why you’re a brilliant man who will never fail to amaze me.”

Maurice chuckled. “I’m just an old fool with too many toys and too much time. You’re the one with the fancy job in Oxford. Now, I’ve got to run. Just a few weeks before my investors come! Love you, Bluebelle!”

The goodbye was halfway out of Belle’s mouth when her father rang off, so she shook her head, thinking. His call had been far too quiet, without plates being scraped by flatware and the usual background rumble. But then, in these days before a pitch, his schedule was always a mess. 

But he absolutely knew she wasn’t at Oxford anymore. Strange.

Belle took a sip of her wine and smiled. Her father was in the throes of his work and would come back to himself soon enough. In the meantime, she could enjoy the last glass of wine and the way her fingertips tingled when she remembered how it tasted in a kiss.

...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slow updating story. A few of you know what a year (decade) this has been, so I've got reasons. While I'm less sure about other projects, this one I've got to finish, even though I'm not sure when. :)

Memory supplied Shaun’s eyes with the shifting outlines and hazy shadows of the living room as he could recall it through the years. His mother’s good china and crystal were long out of sight, carefully packed and hidden to protect them from Daniel’s adolescence. The narrow display case had been crammed into the corner of Shaun’s bedroom for more than a decade, storing other odds and ends that had no other place.

Chairs had moved, and the sofa, too. His mother used to put the Christmas tree where the side table was now, and the petite sideboard where Shaun had stored all of Daz’s medicines was behind the armchair, forgotten. Two thin, parallel tracks in the rug explained why all the furniture had been shoved and shuffled to make way.

All those years of paralysis, both Daz’s and his own. Just one of them in a wheelchair, though.

“Shaun?” His vision cleared as Daniel held up a box and stacked it in the closet.

The living room was nearly empty and the remaining boxes were stowed in the hall closet and Daniel’s room, soon to be joined by more from Shaun’s room.

Daniel stripped painter’s tape from the roll and started lining the edges of the ceiling and doorways. “Why don’t you start on your room, Shaun? I’ll get supper after I tape off the window, yeah?”

A smile played at the edges of Shaun’s eyes—paint cans and rollers and brushes. He glanced around the room again and headed to the staircase, imagining something new.

…

Time had stopped meaning anything hours ago. It was probably a bad idea to open the boxes, but Shaun couldn’t help it.

Daniel found him sitting on the floor of his bedroom, folders opened to key dates in doctor’s reports and the notebooks keeping track of meds and appointments. The lad said nothing, just walked around Shaun, gently picked up the records and stacked them back in the boxes as he knew they’d been packed away. Finally, he took the one Shaun was holding and closed it.

There were no tears-- just quiet and a sense that, perhaps, it was time. 

Shaun gratefully accepted Daniel’s hand to get up off the floor, exchanged a sad and fond nod, then collapsed into bed, paint stains and all.

…

In the morning, exhausted but relaxed, Shaun decided it was time to go to the shops. When he finished, he grimaced, hoping his check would not be delayed, and started walking toward the library.

Shaun hunched against the cold as he walked the last steps into the library on Monday morning. His pocket felt strange—heavy and bulky with new cargo. It whacked his hip as he shook the chill out of his coat when he stepped into the library.

The older librarian was there, hair pulling impossibly tighter at her face as she grimaced at his flapping.

“Sorry,” he muttered, passing quickly on his way to Belle’s closet office. His heart skipped when he saw her door open. Shaun swallowed, and raised his hand to tap on the frame. 

She was immersed in something, pen hovering over the page on her desk. Shaun grinned and rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Oh!” Belle sat up, eyes wide, then smiled. “Hello, there. Miss me?”

Shaun knew he was smiling too wide to be taken seriously. “No, just popped by to check the email.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “And to ask about the window. And your plants. And your dad. And anything else you might say, really.”

“It would be easier if you had a mobile phone, you know.” Belle commented. 

Shaun reached into his pocket. “Like this?”

For the next twenty minutes, Belle and Shaun prodded, updated, and synchronized the mobile until he could use it to make calls and get alerts from the jobs centre. All he’d have to do is press a button and his application would be sent to new jobs that matched him. It wasn’t quite the cheapest mobile, he thought as he ran his thumb over the nubby buttons, but it would more than do for him.

Belle’s knees were touching his when she held out her hand. “Here, I almost forgot!” She tapped away and handed it back. “I put my number in there. You can find me in your directory, or you can set up a speed dial.”

“How do I set up a speed dial?”

Belle pulled up a command. “Like this. How do you want to d—“

“Number one. If I press one, I want it to call you. And I’ll make two call Daniel.”

Belle showed Shaun how. In the quiet of her office, Shaun could hear the sift clicks of the keys as she pressed them. 

“You know, you usually put family as number one.”

Shaun shrugged. “Yeah, but Daniel’s a wee shit, so two is fine.”

Belle handed back the phone and smiled softly. “I missed you yesterday.”

The phone slid into Shaun’s hand. It was never easy, knowing what to say. So arsed in love he cracked jokes because that’s what he knew how to do, not say anything meaningful.

He took a deep breath. “I missed you, too. I didn’t like it much.”

“I ran a few errands until couldn’t stand it, then I went home and hoped it wasn’t a dream.” She laughed at herself. “What did you do yesterday?”

_I tore apart my fucking house and started over, because I saw how you did it and I want to be like you and oh, Belle. I want to make a better place to live for myself and I want you to come and see it and know that you made me want to do it._

He held up his paint-stained hands. “Bit of painting.”

Belle smiled. “Nice color.” She glanced down, and fiddled with a scrap of paper. “Can I see it?”

_You can have it._

“Yeah. Dinner tomorrow? Got a bit more work to finish, but it should be good tomorrow. Done enough, at least.”

As Belle was about to speak, Shaun’s phone chimed from his pocket, startling them both. Shaun squinted at the screen with concern and Belle nodded encouragement.

“Oh my god, it’s a job.” Shaun breathed as he heard the automated voice on the line. “What do I do?”

Belle stood and pushed the phone to his ear so he could hear the instructions. He pressed a button to confirm his identity, then, making a face like he was bracing for impact, he pressed the command to apply for the job. The voice droned, and Shaun only heard half of it, his ears were ringing so loudly.

“Well?” Belle asked as he rang off. 

“I’ll get an appointment for an interview by the end of the week. My god, Belle, I may get a _job!_ ” He was holding her in his arms and how had she gotten there? Shaun didn’t care, and Belle didn’t seem to be going anywhere. She tugged his shoulders and kissed him.

“Now we have something to celebrate. I’ll bring wine and sweets tomorrow. What time?”

 _Now._

“Now. No, no, sorry, you’re working. Maybe six? Fuck, Belle, I might have a job.”

Belle patted his cheek, laughing. “Are you okay?”

“No, yes. I’m grand.” Shaun paused and touched the hand lightly resting on his face. “It’s been a mad year, but things are looking up.”

The laughing quietened, but the twinkle stayed in Belle’s eyes. “Yes, they are.”

…

Belle tucked her phone under her chin and flipped through the pages of the recipe book. “Sounds like you’ve got things nearly ready, Papa.”

“Oh yes. The re-breather is ready to go and the video wall system will work, just so long as no one goes twiddling the wires at all. Same for the back-up battery system. Oh, I saw that you might have some bad weather coming?”

Belle flipped to the cake recipes and lingered over one with a chocolate cream filling. “You know how accurate those reports are. One good nudge and we’ll get some rain and nothing else. That’s hardly news here.”

“If you say so. Your place water-tight? No rot?”

Then there was always fruit fillings. “No more than any other place around. And the window doesn’t leak anymore, so that’s fixed.”

“Oh yes. How’s your man, then?”

Her fingertips, once tracing the ingredients, now slid away from the lines. “He’s great. He might have a job soon.”

“That’s a pity. Nothing wrecks a creativity like a steady job.”

Belle laughed. “That might be true, but we can’t all be inventors. Someone has to build your toys, you know.”

“True. Just so long as he can look after you.”

Belle blinked. “Papa?”

“I’m not being morbid, Bluebelle. I can’t just fly up with a spanner every time you’ve got a leaky pipe, can I? If you take care of him half as well as you took care of me then he’s a lucky man. And if he doesn’t jump when you say so, I’ll come up there with the spanner and tighten his pipes.”

“Shall I send you updates then? You can tick the boxes on my to-do lists.”

“Yes,” Maurice said flatly. “And I want a write up on his work.”

Belle giggled. Shaun could handle his work just fine as far as she was concerned. “Fine. Look, I’ve got to pick out a recipe for supper tomorrow and then off to bed. Are you about to go to work?”

“I am. Just a bit of window dressing and polishing to do, then I’ll knock their socks off next week. I might be ahead of schedule.”

Belle flipped another page. “Well, that will be a first. Talk to you Wednesday, I’ll be at Shaun’s for supper tomorrow.”

Maurice paused. “Shaun, right. Of course. Talk to you Wednesday then, Bluebelle.”

Belle lingered over the chocolate cake again. She might skip the piles of shaved chocolate on the top, but the thick coating of grenache should do just fine on the walk to Shaun’s. She might need to pack the wine into a bag, though, which made a rather nice excuse to bring one.

...


End file.
